Christmas Wedding Date
by InMyEyes2014
Summary: A present for @piratesails from her CSSS, here is an A/U story in six parts about Killian and Emma being set up on a blind date to meet before Mary Margaret and David's wedding.
1. Chapter 1

"Do you think that Emma would rather stay here or at Granny's?" Mary Margaret asked, her green eyes studying the diagram of the seating arrangements for the reception. They had created a total of seven final designs so far, but she and David were still discussing the placement of all their friends and family. "Those beds are horrible, but she'd have more privacy."

"I offered her a room here," David answered, his own attention diverted by a half unpacked box of photographs that his fiancé wanted displayed before any more arrivals. Their new home of the 19th century farmhouse was a sprawling mansion in comparison to the renovated loft they had been sharing for the last year. He'd grown up in the farmhouse, raised by his widowed mother in the tall ceilinged rooms that seemed quite bare. Mary Margaret was already changing that with plundering trips to antique markets throughout New England. "But she's never been one to do what I expect. And she'll probably want to rebel against us when she finds out you are setting her up on a date."

"Me?" the teacher squealed defensively. "That was our decision together. You know Emma won't bring a date with her even though we said she could. And you agreed that she has a lot in common with Killian."

"You're not putting this all on me when it all goes pear shaped."

Plucking one of the grapes off the plate next to her pile of post it note decorated plans, Mary Margaret chewed thoughtfully. "I thought you were a romantic. I can't believe I'm not marrying a romantic."

David pulled out the most recently framed photograph of them, one from their engagement photo shoot by the water. In it he was lifting his bride to be into his arms and swinging her around as they both laughed with heads thrown back. "This picture begs to differ. And I don't think it is a crime that a man would want to avoid involving his coworker and the woman he considers a sister in some sort of romantic entanglement."

"It's a date for dinner and whatever," she protested. "Get your mind out of the gutter. And everyone thinks it is a great idea. Did I tell you I saw Zelena at the market this morning? She is totally on board with this and thinks that it will be the start of something great."

Scoffing at her enthusiasm, one of the things that had made him fall in love with her in the first place, David pulled a few more protective wrappings from the framed photographs. "You told Zelena? As in your stepmother's sister?"

"What can I say? I'm horrible at keeping secrets. Anyway, Zelena offered to help anyway she could. Though I'm not sure that's a great idea. She's not exactly subtle and Emma doesn't like to be forced into things."

"My point exactly," David said, pulling the last item from the box and tossing the cardboard to the pile in the corner that needed to be broken down and set aside for recycling. "I just don't think we should put too much pressure on anyone, especially Emma. You know how she can be about anything like this. And piling on pressure from our friends and family just seems like a good way to get Emma to run back to Boston without even staying for the wedding."

David seemed to know his surrogate sister pretty well, as she had already warned that she was not interested in a romantic relationship. Every time she had a date or even just a drink with a guy, Mary Margaret was practically salivating at the idea of future plans and romantic excursions. The last had been Walsh, a furniture designer and shop owner who had invited Emma out for lunch. Mary Margaret had heard about the invitation and was researching affordable airfares to Vail for a couple's weekend before Emma even got back to her modern one bedroom apartment. When Emma didn't even know the guy's last name, let alone if they would see each other again, Mary Margaret had admitted defeat.

"But you have to admit that they would be perfect together," Mary Margaret said, eyeing the table arrangement again with a critical eye. "He's got that rough edge and heart of gold. She's got that rough edge and…" She paused to look at her husband to be who was rubbing his hands over his face. "What?"

"I think by rough edge, you mean walls. They both have walls. When two people who have walls get together, you're not likely to see anyone breaking anything down."

Mary Margaret wrote a quick note on the curled edge of the arrangements and recapped her pen. "No, but you know what two people with walls can make?"

"Do I even want to know? You're adorable when you're optimistic, dear, but this might be a little too much even for you." He crossed the room and dropped a kiss on the top of her head, ruffling her short dark style. "I love you, and if this is important to you, I will certainly do my part. I just don't want you to be disappointed."

***AAA***

The Christmas lights that lined the outside of the farm house where Ruth Nolan had raised her son and probably a dozen foster children over the years were blinking in the early morning fog that rolled in off the shore and a nearby pond where the children used to fish during the summer and skate in the winter. The gravel of the driveway crunched under the tires of her trusty Volkswagen Beetle as she eased in beside the tan truck that David Nolan seemed to keep running perfectly as the day he had driven it off the lot.

"Emma!" he called out, scrambling down the ladder from whatever chore had him atop the roof of the little offshoot of a picture perfect red barn. "You made it!"

He would have hugged the woman who for about two years had been one of Ruth's foster children. However, the blonde woman was still behind the wheel of her car even as her 10 year old son, Henry, jumped out and nearly tackled the man ahead of him. Laughter and a few of those half hugs and half pats on the back ensued as the Nolans' collie yapped happily around them, trying to join in the welcome.

"I didn't realize you were seriously keeping this as a farm," she said, stuffing her hands back into a pair of black, faux leather gloves. "How do you do it all? Sheriff, groom, son, volunteer at the animal shelter, and now farmer? Do you sleep?"

"You're a fine one to talk, mother, bail bonds person, and all around general pain in the butt," he teased as he elbowed Henry in the ribs gently. The move earned a laugh from the boy who was leaning to one side to look toward the chicken coop to see if there were any real chickens.

"It's not too late, buddy," she teased back. "I can turn around and head back to Boston. Mary Margaret will have to choose another maid of honor and you'll be in big trouble for ruining the symmetry of the wedding party." Throwing her head back to laugh at the look of horror on his face, Emma looped her arm through his. "I thought as much. Come on, Farmer David, show me around. You know I haven't been here in about 12 years now."

David gave her a quick tour that included the kitchen and den that they were still renovating. When they passed a closed door that was part of the newest addition to the two story, white, clapboard structure, he paused. "She's not having a good day," he said softly, his large hands resting at his waist and pushing back the leather jacket that seemed part of his uniform as much as his faded jeans and soft flannel shirt. "Most of the time she's like herself…"

Emma smoothed her hand on his jacketed arm. "Are you sure it's a good idea for me to be here? I could stay at Granny's. It might be easier without me and Henry here making noise…"

"Nonsense. You're staying here. I even managed to clean out that bedroom that used to be yours for you and the room next door for Henry." The house had four bedrooms on the upper level and the sort of new suite downstairs for Ruth. It had been a rambling mess of a house for the widow when David and Mary Margaret had set up their lives in a loft in the center of Storybrooke, but she had kept it up with help from her son and a few hired hands. Yet as her health failed and her memory began to suffer, David and Mary Margaret had chosen to come back to the rustic farm to make it their home. "She said yesterday that she couldn't wait to see you or Henry. She's been making plans."

"I'm sure she has," Emma said softly, her face not yet crumbling as she thought of the woman who had tried so hard to be mother and friend to her. "I…well, I…I would love to spend time with her. You know that. So what are these plans?"

David grinned, leading the blonde woman into the main living space of the farm house that had already been redecorated in a casual, shabby, chic style that screamed his elementary school teacher fiancé. He told her of the plans for the days before the wedding, his mother insisting on having both traditional and new events to welcome the woman he was planning to marry. "She's been wanting this for a long time."

"I'm glad she's getting her dream," Emma said sincerely. "So what do you need me to do?"

"Mary Margaret's probably better at explaining it," David said, throwing a video game controller in Henry's direction with a promise of a game he would enjoy. "Maybe we should do dinner tonight? We could let Henry visit his grandfather and Belle? You know, get that out of the way. Nothing too fancy, but we could eat here and have a few new dishes that she and I learned to cook in that class we took last year. If you like it, I'll be happy to share the recipes."

Emma snatched the extra video game controller out of his hands and nodded to her son. "Come on, kid. Let's show David how this is done."

***AAA***

Killian Jones held his hand over his eyes and stared upward with a squint toward the tattered sail on his restored sailboat. Having spent more than two years lovingly repairing and renovating the vessel, he felt sick at the sight of this new damage that was undoubtedly the result of his younger brother's spontaneous and careless treatment of anything that wasn't his own. The slim lined schooner should have been in dry dock for the winter already, but somehow his brother had convinced him to permit one last sail as a way of charming a young woman he was dating.

"He's a bit scared to tell you that he borrowed it last night," came the light and lilting voice of his brother's girlfriend, Isabelle Green, otherwise known as Tinkerbelle so as not to confuse her with the town's librarian. "It was a romantic thought, but he didn't…he got distracted."

"I truly don't need to hear this," Killian grumbled, the toe of his boot making contact with the box of tools he had lugged aboard. "And she's a she, not an it. It's insulting to refer to a ship or a boat as something so lowly."

"Apologies," Tinkerbelle said, stepping over the coiled rope and pressing her hands deeper into her pockets. "You want me to tell him you're still mad or should I encourage him to come talk to you."

"I'll speak to him later. It will cost me a bloody fortune to replace that sail. The material isn't cheap by any means." As a deputy, Killian's salary went mostly toward his apartment rent and other necessities, occasionally squeezing out a little for some improvements to the sail boat. A new mainsail would be cost prohibitive, but necessary as the largest rip was nearly from the head to the luff. He hadn't looked at the jib yet, worrying about what he would find. Lowering his hand, he squinted into the direction of the young blonde woman standing with arms crossed and the sun glinting off her mass of gold curls. "You aren't here to talk about my sails, though. What has you here today?"

"David and Mary Margaret sent me," she confessed, hugging herself as the brisk winter wind blew sharply off the water. "They had an idea."

He twisted his mouth judgmentally and took in a deep breath. "About?"

Tinkerbelle was always direct, but she seemed to be working up her courage for something spectacular. Giving him her best sympathetic gaze, she finally began to speak. "So you know the wedding is coming up."

"They talk of little else these days." Mary Margaret Blanchard and David Nolan were getting married the Saturday before Christmas in a holiday themed wedding that might as well have been for royalty with all the pre-wedding events, expensive decorations, and enough attendants to host to fill up the first three pews at the church. He had been recruited to stand up for his friend and supervisor, David, as the best man. While he was certainly willing, he was already stretched thin what with taking extra shifts so his supervisor could arrange a wedding, manage a move, and care for his ailing mother.

"True," she said, slowly drawing out the point of the conversation. "So David and Mary Margaret have all these events for the wedding attendants. An engagement party, the couples shower, lunch the day before, breakfast the day after, the rehearsal dinner, the wedding, and the reception were all planned, as well as a million other little events and excursions." It was starting to sound as though the wedding was just an extended version of summer camp for those involved.

"Aye," he said warily, wondering how this might involve some sort of added responsibility for him. He'd already been charged with planning a bachelor party for the groom and rounding up various details for the other events. "And they have decided they want…"

"You to not be there alone," Tinkerbelle answered, scrunching her face as if preparing for the onslaught of his reaction. "David has a sister…well, sort of a sister. She was this kid that his mother took in for a while. Anyway, he calls her his baby sister."

"And he would like me to watch over the wee lass?"

Tinkerbelle laughed nervously upon realizing that he was not understanding where she was going with this. "No, more like a date. Emma is an adult woman living in Boston and arriving tomorrow. David and Mary Margaret were both thinking that maybe you would like her."

One of his thick dark eyebrows rose to nearly his hairline. "Date her? Emma? Wait! I remember Dave talking about her. She's that blonde woman in the photograph on his desk. She's got a name like a bird…pigeon? Eagle? Goose?"

"Swan," Tinkerbelle said with an exasperated sigh. "Her name is Emma Swan. And from what they said about her, she seems like she's your type. Beautiful, smart, independent, sarcastic, and tough as nails. I think…"

His arched eyebrow still hadn't gone back to its normal position. "And why are you asking me and not David or Mary Margaret? This is their idea, is it not?"

"David said he didn't feel comfortable asking because you work for him. And Mary Margaret said she was nervous because you seem to think she's ready to cry every time someone brings up the wedding." She twisted her mouth as she watched him grow more suspicious. Throwing up her hands, she took a step back, precariously close to the coiled rope. "I drew the short straw. It was me, your brother, Ruby, of Mary Margaret. For some reason everyone thought I was the least likely to be killed."

He wiped his hand over his face. "I am not that fearsome of a bloke, am I?"

"No, but you do tend to get dramatic when it comes to being set up on a date. I realize that nobody likes a blind date, but come now. You must know that these wedding events and even the holidays would be somewhat easier with a companion than alone."

"That's the argument you're going with?" he teased, his hand still at his chin. He looked to be deep in thought, though she knew he was simply toying with her. "Threatening me that I might feel abandoned with all the merriment of the holidays and wedding?" The young blonde woman was like family to him, even if she had not been dating his sometimes estranged younger brother. She had been in his life since he had first arrived in the United States and wormed her way into his heart in a way that was usually reserved for siblings.

"Will it work?" she asked, crossing her arms again in front of her forest green wool coat. "How long has it been since you went on a date? Are we talking a few years or a decade?"

The bitter winter wind ruffled his hair and he threw up his ungloved hand to stop his inky black locks from being sent too astray. "It's not been decades. I may not have the social calendar of my youth, but I'm no hermit." She was still eying him incredulously so he shook his head in defeat. "Fine, it was that ginger haired friend of Mary Margaret's."

Clicking her tongue on the top of her mouth, the blonde woman smiled triumphantly. "Her name is Ariel and you do realize that since you had that one date that she has since gotten married and has a baby girl? Not much of a baby, actually. I think she may have learned to drive and is considering university."

"Oi, it's certainly not been that long."

"Perhaps not, but it's true that Ariel and her husband Eric met, fell in love, got married, and had a child all since your last date. So that settles it. You're going to woo Emma Swan for the sake of all involved. Go get a haircut or whatever you need because I don't want any excuses."

"I can still refuse. It is not unheard of, love."

"Dinner tonight at the Nolans' farm. Be there by 6:30. Got it?"

David pulled back the gauzy white curtains that had hung in the office like room on the lower level of the farm house and stared into the darkening horizon beyond the now dormant fruit trees toward the road. Mary Margaret had promised to call when she was close so that he could meet her and leave Emma and Killian to their date. Emma would probably catch on relatively quickly, but he was sure he could sneak out and be long gone before she fully realized. Ruth was visiting with Granny and a group of her old friends for a pot luck dinner that served as a great opportunity so it was the perfect chance for Emma and Killian to meet.

The thundering footfalls of Henry rushing down the curved wood stairs broke through David's planning. "Hey, Henry," David said as the boy jumped to miss the last step and landed with a loud thud. "Are you ready?"

Chocolate eyes stared back at the sandy haired man with a lopsided sort of smile. "Do I really have to go tonight? Can't I stay here? Grandpa always makes everything so formal." He was wearing a crisp green shirt tucked into a pair of pants that looked so stiff and new that they might stand up by themselves. It would have been the perfectly preppy ensemble for visiting his father's family if it wasn't for the comfortable sneakers on his feet and his hair hanging in his eyes.

David had not actually talked to Mr. Gold, who ran the local pawn shop and dabbled in real estate to the point of owning separate properties. Dropping his voice, he slung an arm around the growing boy's shoulders. "So here's the deal…"

By the time Emma slid her feet into a pair of buttery cream colored boots that ended just under her knees, she had yet to notice the quiet of the oversized house. Her boots were capped off with a sweater dress of the same cream color and burgundy accents. Her hair was tied back loosely and hung over one shoulder. David had made such a big deal that the meal would be special that she took the hint that jeans and socks with an oversized sweater probably weren't appropriate.

Holding onto the hand carved banister, she leaned forward to look toward the living room in one direction and the dining in the other. A Christmas tree and the fireplace provided the only light in the living room and the dining room was similarly adorned with candles and two place settings and a bottle of wine between them. Two?

She was a few steps from the dining room when the sharp and unfamiliar knock on the door interrupted her. Groaning in realization, she spun on her heel and glared at the solid oak structure. She'd been set up. Suddenly it was clear that there was a man on the other side of that door, a man she was meant to sit down with for a meal, conversation, and perhaps more. She was going to kill David and Mary Margaret.

The knock sounded again, reminding her that the man on the other side was unaware that she was having a debate internally. Squaring off her shoulders and marching toward the door, she flung it open, almost losing her grip on it and slamming it into the wall.

"Emma Swan?" came the British accent of the man standing on the other side. He was dressed head to toe in black from the leather boots on his feet to his black denim jeans, an equally dark shirt with some imperceptible pattern embroidered into it, and a leather jacket that was worn to the state of becoming almost a second skin to the man. Even his hair was an inky black, as were the thick brows over equally dark lashes that framed the bluest eyes she had ever seen. "That's your name?" He had sort of a stubborn jaw that was covered in a dark stubble that spoke to more than one day of not shaving yet not a full beard.

"Uh yeah," she said, still not opening the door all the way or stepping out of his way. "I'm Emma, but I don't know…" She blew out a breath and ruffled a stray bit of golden blonde hair across her forehead.

"Killian Jones." He smiled broader and offered her his right hand – the one without a glove. She noted that discrepancy as she slowly extended her own hand toward him. The left one was by his side and wearing a dark black glove, unmoving. "Pleasure," Killian said, accepting her hand gratefully as he blinked his blue eyes up at her from his seated position. She was a vision, he had to admit. Long dark lashes framed sea green eyes that were beautifully positioned on her oval face with daintily pointed angles of her high cheek bones and a sharp chin. His gaze lowered to wear she was looking. "I suppose David and Mary Margaret didn't mention that I only have the one hand."

"They didn't mention a lot of things."

"Ahhh," he said, giving her an all too brief lopsided grin. "I'm going to presume you weren't aware that we were supposed to have dinner tonight either."

"No, I wasn't aware," she confirmed. "I just came downstairs and…" She gave a brief look over her shoulder at the empty and romantically lit area behind her. "I may have to kill them."

"Since you weren't aware, love, I should warn you I am a deputy and work with David. It's probably not wise to announce your plans of homicide to a man of the law. But I'll overlook it for now." He dug the bare hand back into his jacket pocket and tilted his head to get a better view of the room behind her. "If you'd be willing, I wouldn't say no to dinner or at least a drink. It's a bit cool out here."

Just as he mentioned the temperature a brisk wind cut through the air and chilled her. "Come in," she said hastily. "I didn't mean…I mean I don't know you, but clearly you're…"

"I will do my best to not betray your trust love," he said, entering the foyer and watching her hustle over to the dining room in search of an actual light. "Clearly David and his fiancé felt that we would appreciate the low lights?"

"Clearly," she repeated. Setting foot in the square shaped dining room with the double archway from the foyer, she frowned. The lines at her mouth deepened as she stared at the food on the plates, piled high. "And clearly they thought we'd be hungry."

He stepped closer to look for himself, the sound of his breathing reverberating in her ears. "Aye, it is quite a spread and the wine…" He lifted it and squinted into the low light. "A good year."

"Figures." Her glance toward the faded label confirmed his assessment. "Yeah, that's good stuff."

"The lass knows her wines?"

She shrugged dismissively. "I spend a lot of time in my car with nothing more than my phone and time on my hands. I've done research on a lot of things, including wine. The year before a drought is usually good, very sweet and tangy. Years when there is too much rain usually mean bitter." She waved her hand toward the bottle he was holding. "That year was cold, but very little snow. I've found the dryer the year the better I like the wine." Briefly she gloried in the pride he wore unabashedly. "But it doesn't matter. I doubt it's a good idea to drink when I'm alone with a guy I don't know in a house."

"You clearly don't trust me yet or at least don't believe I am who I say I am," he assessed, replacing the wine and stalking over to the shelving that lined one wall and studied it intently. "Here," he said, removing a framed photo of himself with David, Mary Margaret, and a few others. "Will this prove my point?" When she didn't reach for it, he put it back in place and pulled out his wallet. He flashed her his badge. "Better? I could probably offer some other identification if it is needed."

"You can't blame me," she said, eying the food again. The salad would be wilted soon and covered dishes would probably cool easily if not eaten. "I'm sorry. If you want to…If you want to go, you're welcome. I mean pack up a meal if you want. Obviously there is plenty."

"Are you kicking me out already?" He pretended to pout. "I have yet to offer you any of my impeccable table manners or lovely talking points. I can be utterly charming and brilliant when I am put to the test."

She was still staring at the table, not allowing herself to meet his eyes. "I…You want to stay?"

"You must know David better than I, love, but I've found him to be a bit relentless. Even if I were to slink away now, he and his bride would surely find another time and place to try this attempt to fix us up." Stepping around her, he pulled out a chair with his one hand and gestured for her to sit. "We can at least tell them we tried?"

She wasn't sure how much she was trying. The first half hour was the usual questions. Where did you grow up? What's your favorite color, band, movie, book, time of day, place to vacation? She did not tell him of her life in foster care or the fact that she had now left every man she ever dated before they could leave her. She briefly mentioned having a son, usually something that scared away potential suitors. He had not only seemed interested but admiring of her determination and strength. She told herself that it was probably just an act, but when more time went by and he managed to remember even tiny details, she briefly let herself appreciate his interest.

"More?" he asked when the food was gone and he was holding the bottle poised to pour. "I would but I am responsible for driving home tonight."

"I shouldn't," she said slowly. "So you haven't explained how you knew that I was going to be here and we were supposed to…whatever this is…"

"That's a funny story, I suppose. In fact, it was Tinkerbelle who told me." He laughed at her reaction to that and then shared the conversation. "I realize that your surprise and even irritation is warranted. I felt much the same when it was sprung on me. But I agreed and can't say I am sorry for that. We will be spending a fair amount of time together over the next bit for the wedding. What with you as the maid of honor and me as the best man."

She nodded, her fingers itching to dump the wine into her glass and then into her mouth. "Right. That seems like bad planning on their part. I mean what if I hated you or vice versa? It would make the next few events pretty awkward."

"Aye, I suppose it would, but Mary Margaret has been quite successful as of late with her matchmaking. I suppose she thought we were likely to follow suit."

***AAA***

Emma lowered the scarf that was covering her mouth as she opened the door to the nearly empty diner with her hip. For the nearly two years that she had lived in Storybrooke, Maine, Granny's Diner had been a second home for a girl who'd had no real home of her own. After school each day she had worked alongside her classmate Ruby for the proprietress who was also Ruby's grandmother. Sitting on the stools at the counter when there were no customers, the two of them had managed to do most of their homework and talk about life as the juke box played tunes from the 1980s that nobody had ever heard before.

It was Ruby who spotted her coming through the door first, dropping the stack of menus she was holding and darting past the family she was supposed to seat to embrace her friend. "They said you were coming, but dang if I didn't believe them."

"This place hasn't changed," Emma said, trying to inspect the retro décor as she returned the hug. "You haven't changed either. How are you still fitting in that skirt?" The uniforms at Granny's had always included a red skirt and white top, completely impractical for both the climate and the job that included slinging food around. Ruby managed to wear her skirt just a bit higher than all the others, showing off her long limbs to perfection even with a pair of sneakers on her feet.

"Oh please," Ruby said, keeping one arm around her friend and waving down the other server to seat the bewildered and abandoned family. "You could fit in yours too if you wanted. I bet Granny's still got it in the back. In fact, I know she does. Want to work the breakfast shift?"

"No thanks. It took me three years after leaving this place to wash the scent of the lasagna out of my hair. Speaking of hair, what's up with yours?" Ruby was blessed with thick raven haired locks that had just a hint of wave to them. They were now highlighted with streaks of bright red that was not at all natural. Her lips were painted a similar hue.

"Just an experiment." She held it out as if trying to decide on the spot if it was something she liked. Giving up, she let it settle back down. "Where's Henry? Don't tell me that you didn't bring your son with you? What? He's in college now?"

"Fifth grade and he's over with the happy couple right now. I think Mary Margaret bought out a toy store to welcome him. I'll bring him by later."

"So? Anyone new in your life? Any good dates lately?"

Ruby wasn't subtle. She was always asking about her dating life, insisting that there had to be more to the story. When Emma would study on a Friday night, Ruby was sure it was because she was secretly dating a married man. Saturday nights in the library were code to Ruby for wild parties at the community college about two hours away. Memories of the night before flitted before her eyes, the way Killian had listened to her, the way he spoke of things with a certain expertise and passion, and the incidental touches of his hand that were innocent yet burning. "You'd be the first to know. I promise. But you probably already know anyway. I hear that you have been dating. Dorothy?"

Ruby's features became more animated as she spoke about the way her relationship was blossoming and that even her grandmother had finally relented an age old grudge against Dorothy's aunt. "Mary Margaret set us up on our first date, you know," she said knowingly. The sound of her grandmother's voice in the kitchen sent the now 28-year-old waitress behind the counter to pretend to organize menus and wrapped flatware. "She's got a real knack for matchmaking."

Emma rested her chin on her palm and watched her friend for a moment. A warning voice whispered in her head as realization struck. "Damn it, Ruby, you already knew she and David were going to fix me up? Why didn't someone warn me?"

"Like you would have come here if you knew? Besides the guy is pretty hot. He's a deputy with David. Has his own boat."

"Oh God," Emma said, dropping her forehead to the counter dramatically. "He didn't mention the boat. Good thing because I can't stand guys with boats. Please don't tell me he usually wears a sweater knotted around his neck or has a nickname like Biff."

Amused, Ruby poked her finger into the leather covering Emma's shoulder in the form of a red jacket. "Have I ever called a guy named Biff hot? No, I wouldn't. And I don't do sweaters knotted at the neck. So 1985. So you liked Killian."

She lifted her head slowly. "He seemed okay. I mean, he's funny, nice, and not bad to look at…"

Ruby bobbed her head affirmatively. "Yeah, he's English, got these eyes that…"

"Ruby!" the older woman who owned the diner bellowed. "We have enough flatware for 600 customers. I think we're good."

Brandishing a smirk, Ruby turned to her grandmother. "Granny, look who's back!" Darting out of the way and toward the internal window to the kitchen to pick up an order, she left Emma in the older woman's wake. Though a few inches shorter than her towering granddaughter, Mrs. Lucas hugged the blonde woman just a fiercely.

"Tell me you're back for good," she said, looking over the rims of her glasses. "I could use some good help around here."

"Just for the wedding," Emma said, settling back on the stool. "I'm headed back to Boston after Christmas." Relaxing a bit, Emma peeled off the knitted hat and scarf until she realized under Granny's watchful eye she was being judged for being too thin, tired, and whatever else the woman saw in her.

"And she's in town for a date with Killian," Ruby announced, swaying her hips as she trotted off to deliver food to one of the few full tables.

"I don't even know this guy," Emma protested to Granny. "Please. You have to help me." She made a dismissing gesture. "Mary Margaret has plans, Granny. You know how she is. They just sprung him on me last night. I'm talking candle light dinner and the whole thing. Talk about awkward."

The woman hummed as she swiped at invisible crumbs from her counter. "I don't know. That girl has always had impeccable tastes. She even set up Ruby and Dorothy. I would have never thought…anyway, I think you should go for it. He's a nice guy, a bit cocky and surefooted, but nice. And I'll tell you what. I'll offer you two a meal on the house for your next date."

Ruby sailed back behind her grandmother to retrieve a new bottle of ketchup. "Offer breakfast for the morning after the date. That might be better so I can hear about it."

There was a critical tone to Granny's voice as she condemned her granddaughter's blunt enthusiasm. "Not here, Ruby. Emma's a nice young woman, not a trollop who'll jump into bed with anyone who gives her least bit of attention. She's got class."

Emma tittered silently as Ruby rolled her eyes. "Unlike me, right? Granny thinks I'm nothing but a…"

"Enough," Granny bellowed again, patting Emma's hand. "Welcome home, dear."

***AAA***

The sheriff's station was dimly lit as Killian entered and threw his coat over the back of his chair. "David?" he called out to the silence of the room. He didn't think the man was there, but felt it better to make sure. Finding himself alone, he switched the phones over from night mode and set to making a fresh pot of coffee after he dumped the smidge of coffee that was of undetermined age.

Scalding his tongue on the first mug of the bitter brew, Killian did not even hear David enter the steely gray cave of a station room with a box balanced on one arm and a bag of pastries dangling from his fingers. "I hope that file is more interesting than fresh doughnuts from that bakery that just opened near Granny's. I managed to beat Leroy and the guys to the first batch this morning."

Killian knew better than to make fun of the sweet offering, but still managed to offend. "Isn't there are cliché about cops and doughnuts?"

"If that's how you feel, then I won't share them with you." David dropped the box on one of the five empty desks. At least Killian hadn't asked about them in a while, as the station's payroll didn't include enough staff for such needs. Maybe they could find some use for them later. "And they aren't all for us anyway. Emma's going to stop by in a few."

Dropping the sloppily written report from the state police onto the pile, Killian lifted his brows upward. "Is she now? And what else can you tell me about this lass conspired to set me up with? Not that I don't love and adore Tink, but one would think I would hear such personal news from the source rather than a third party." Wiping his right hand against his gloved prosthetic, he watched his friend's expression fall.

"You know this is more Mary Margaret than it is me," David began sheepishly.

"Aye, but you might have a say in the matter. I didn't mind meeting the lass, but these fix ups rarely work out. Let's say we met and hated each other on sight. Don't you think the wedding will be wee bit uncomfortable with us staring daggers at each other as you and your fiancé say your vows?" Having pushed back from the metal desk, he hunched forward with his arms resting on his thighs. "I'm only thinking of you, mate."

"Right," he remarked in cold sarcasm. "Look, Emma is essentially my family. And since you are still smiling and alive, I'm going to assume it went well. While you are a good friend except when you manage to beat me at poker, I would kill you if you hurt her in any way. So no, I don't expect an epic romance. Mary Margaret and I were just thinking you might keep each other company for a while."

"That's a bit old fashioned sounding, Dave," Killian teased with a smileless expression of amusement. "And they call me…"

The banter did not allow them to hear the click of Emma's heels against the tile floors and the solid but overlooked knock on the glass door to the hallway. "David's being old fashioned? I'm shocked." She strode in, giving the sheriff a side hug as she laid her cheek against his shoulder for a minute. "The computer system here alone should be evidence enough that you're not exactly modern. Are these kinds of monitors even built anymore? And please tell me you're not using dial up internet. I'm already hearing the sounds of the AOL guy telling you that you've got mail."

"I have to be a good steward of the taxpayers' money," David protested, keeping his hands at his weight in his signature pose of pride. "And I'm not taking crap from the woman whose office is essentially her car. A car that is older than she is and had more miles on it than she'll ever see as money in the bank." As he moved to elbow her in the ribs, his leather shoulder holster shone against the denim blue shirt he wore.

Meanwhile Killian watched amusedly as his boss and the blonde woman teased back and forth to the point that he was about to pick a side. Reaching across his desk, he dipped his hand into the bag from Granny's and pulled out a sticky and sweet treat. He had just broken off a piece when he felt her green eyes bore into him. The scrap of the pastry still an inch or two from his mouth, he nearly recoiled at the still and stern expression on her face.

"Well?" Emma asked the sandy haired sheriff. David's normally calm expression colored brightly as she stepped between the two men and stuck out a long fingered hand toward Killian. "Good to see you again, Killian." Carrying herself confidently, she was clearly aware of his appreciative glances to the melting softness of her body and the slight pop of her hip as they tapered into long denim clad legs. "This guy," she said, throwing a hand gesture in David's direction, "failed to say that you would be here. And I guess he failed to say that bear claws are always mine." She crossed her arms over her white sweater clad chest and waited for him to react. And when he did, it was far from dramatic. He lowered the uneaten portion to the wax paper holding the majority of the treat.

"Apologies."

Her eyes scanned him, seeming to take in the tempting, lean, and completely male physique. Her full, unpainted lips opened slightly and then closed again as her fingers wiggled as though she wanted to snatch the pastry back from him. "You didn't know," she quipped, smiling without malice or apology. "David should have said something."

He exchanged a smile with her and then nodded. "Aye, he's apparently not properly prepared either of us for this."

Clearing his throat, David threw up his hands in a mock surrender move. "I didn't plan on anything, guys. Mary Margaret…"

"Yeah, I've heard it," Emma said, rolling a chair closer to the desk where Killian was seated with the bag of treats. "You do realize that starting off a marriage by blaming her for everything is probably not a good sign." She pointed to the bear claw there between them as she sat. "You eating that or too scared to now?"

The whiteness of his smile was dazzling as he grinned. "Split it? I think there's enough for a cup of coffee for you too." He stood abruptly and turned. "We usually have it black, but I bet there's some sugar and maybe a bit of cream if you desire."

"I bought her a hot chocolate," David spoke up, cursing under his breath when he realized it was not there. "That I left on the counter..."

"Sugar, no cream is fine," Emma answered Killian after telling David that leaving her drink on the counter was not going to soften the blow of trying to fix her up. She dug through the bag to find a plastic knife that she used to cut the long pastry in half.

"Very equitable, Swan," Killian said upon his return. "Impressive."

"I have a 10 year old son," she answered back. "Fairness is a state I have to try to achieve often. Warning though, I did have to touch your half. I've had my shots so you should be safe."

His smile ruffled his mouth as one corner lifted higher than the other and he slid the coffee in front of her with a few to go packets of sweetener. "I wouldn't presume to know what level of sweetness the lady would prefer."

David stepped closer to the two and then took a few steps back. "So I'm going to go make sure the delivery of lights has arrived. Regina wants us to decorate the businesses on the south side of the main street. Seems those lights quit working." His face twisted sourly. "You know that if it had been my choice…"

Emma flipped her hair over one shoulder and pulled her arms out of her jacket one at a time. "Right, Mary Margaret is a dictator. I'm not sure I'm buying that. But anyway, I'm here. There's a bear claw and coffee. So we'll talk and make everyone happy that I'm not sitting at home like a serial killer making plans for my next move."

With a sigh that sounded very much like surrender, David retreated out into the cold, pulling his coat off the chair behind him.

"You continue to impress, love," Killian said as the door swung close. "Can't say I've seen too many who can silence ole Dave. He's usually fancies bossing people around, especially me."

"Right," Emma said, a dusty rose color deepening on her cheeks. "So you're…I'm sorry. None of this is your fault at all. I'm just…I'm tired of the whole feeling sorry for Emma for not having a boyfriend. Feel sorry for Emma because she's a single mom. It doesn't occur to Mary Margaret that I might actually be okay on my own."

"It is flattering that she cares so much, as does Dave. Perhaps that is a better way to look at it."

"I guess, but you were right last night. They are relentless. If I were to tell them I wanted to stay away from you, they'd just find some other guy to throw at me. I heard them discussing it."

"And I'm maybe better than the alternative," he said, lifting that bite of bear claw he had discarded before.

"Fishing for compliments this soon, Killian?" she asked. "Actually I was wondering if you might want to do something to get back at them. We both know they aren't going to stop so let's just go with it. I'm not talking cruel or manipulative. I'm just saying we don't show that we hate this. We hang out at all this wedding stuff and they feel better about poor Emma and Killian being alone. After they say I do we can forget the whole thing."

"You know that most romantic television movies on Hallmark have similar plots, love? I hardly think this will work." He wiped some of the sugar off his lips and watched as her tongue made a similar movement across her own. "Fake dating rarely works. Either we will grow to hate each other or we will find we have more in common that either of us would like to admit."


	2. Chapter 2

_My sincerest apologies. I ended up hospitalized on Christmas Day and have just now gotten back to semi-normal. The other piece of that is that the second half of this story disappeared from the computer (Windows updated while I was gone) and I had to rewrite it. So instead of two parts, this story will be a bit longer. Here is part two._

Collapsing on the full sized bed covered in a patchwork quilt, Emma huffed out her annoyance and boldly threw her still boot covered feet onto the chipped paint of the bed's footboard. Killian Jones had a lot of nerve, she thought as she stared at the white ceiling as though it might offer her some consolation. His arrogant answer to her suggestion they might fake a short term relationship to appease David and Mary Margaret had sent her reeling.

"I would not mind so much getting to know you, love, but I don't feel it necessary to fake such interest," she mimicked in a horrible imitation of his English accent to nobody in particular. God only knew that her surrogate family would be disappointed and would undoubtedly be plotting another fix up for her. Sure he said that now, she thought. He would probably even buy her a drink before deciding that a single mother who tracked down skips for a living was far too much trouble.

"There you are," Mary Margaret said from behind a mountain of silk, lace, and tulle. "I thought I heard you come in."

Emma propped herself up on her elbows and watched as the mound of different dresses moved expertly through the room. "I'm not sure I'm willing to admit that I'm here, especially if you expect me to try all those on."

Hefting them onto the nearby rocking chair that had a cushion of the same material as some of the quilt's patches, Mary Margaret smiled brightly. She was a petite woman with short brown hair that was cut fashionably into a fun style. Her green eyes popped from behind long dark lashes and her skin glowed with the exuberance that only teachers seemed to muster after hours with glue, macaroni and responsibility for 30 children who were not her own. "Options, Emma, I brought options. I didn't want each bridesmaid or you to look the same. So I picked a color and you pick the style."

"Yellow?" Emma asked, eyeing the pile suspiciously. "For winter?"

"Gold," the elementary teacher corrected without a hint of impatience. "For Christmas. You know? Silver and gold?"

Still not moving from the bed, Emma tilted her head to stare at the dresses more carefully. Her face crumpled into a confused state. "So I always thought red and green for Christmas? You know, holly, mistletoe, and all that?"

"The berries on mistletoe are white, Emma, and I don't want my bridesmaids wearing red or green. Ruby would have way too much fun in red and probably get arrested for indecency with one of her signature red numbers. And I don't really like green that much. It would look too much like mold." She made a quick look of disgust before lifting the a-line gold dress that was cocktail length and included a white lace underskirt. "Come on. Enough stalling. You can tell me about your date while you pick which one you want."

Slowly, Emma righted herself, pulling on her sweater to make sure it was not up around her chest. "You and I need to talk about that by the way," she noted, sorting through the dresses and placing them into piles of yes, no, and maybe. "Did you really think that would work?"

The brunette's face fell. "You didn't like him?"

"It doesn't matter," Emma answered, holding the long sheath dress up to her neck. "I don't want to date someone for a week for your wedding. I'm fine being there alone. I don't have to…"

"Of course you don't have to, but Emma, think about it. Life is so much better when we have someone to share it with." Dreamily, Mary Margaret hugged her friend from behind and rested her chin on the blonde's shoulder. "It's such a magical time of year for walks in the snow, sleigh rides, and hot cocoa by the fireplace."

"You are a walking Disney movie," Emma said, grabbing for another of the dresses to hold up to herself. "There are probably bluebirds following you around as you sing." While she could see her friend's face never faltered in the mirror, Emma turned from the glass and wrapped the dark haired teacher into a hug. "I love that you're easily the most optimistic and positive person I know. It's truly one of the best things about you. That and you make the most wonderful dinners ever. But what you and David have? That's not in the cards for me. And it's not something I'm comfortable with even trying to explore."

Placing her hands on Emma's shoulders, Mary Margaret spun her back toward the mirror that was framed by painted barn wood and held the new dress up higher. "I'm not giving up on you. I am rarely wrong about these things. You don't have to have what David and I have. I know that. But Killian is…"

"A great guy. A nice guy. A good looking guy who just needs the love of a good woman to make him settle down and stop hanging out in bars. Right? That's what everyone says. And somehow I'm supposed to…"

The toga like dress was tossed aside and replaced with a sheath that had a long split up the side to highlight her long legs. "Emma, he's not perfect. I wouldn't ever claim that he was. He's a bit of a loner like you. He's got a younger brother who he treats more like a lazy son and that's it. More than likely he's ready to kill me for trying to set you guys up, but if you'd just…"

"Take a chance?" Emma asked, thoughtfully looking back at the first dress and its sweetheart neckline that was set off by an overlay of matching lace that created three quarter length sleeves. "I don't think he's interested in me any more than I am…"

"You can't know that yet. David said he seemed very interested this morning at the station. And you shared your bear claw with him. You never do that."

Pulling away and lifting back up the discarded dress, Emma grimaced. "Don't you guys have anything better to talk about than my dating life? Seriously?"

"Fine," the teacher said, holding up two hands in a show of surrender. "I can take a hint. No setting you up with Killian." She brushed some invisible lint off her powder blue boat neck sweater. "So August is coming to the wedding…"

"Mary Margaret," Emma said warningly. "You know that didn't work out before. He's probably slept his way up and down the west coast. I have a son. I don't need to worry about him slipping off to hook up with some woman he doesn't know. And no, I don't want to be set up with Dr. Whale. That guy is a walking example of who not to date."

The bride blushed at the memory of her one time thing with the doctor when she and David had broken up briefly. It had become a running joke between the group of friends that they knew they weren't desperate if they were still able to turn down the lecherous doctor. "Graham?"

"We dated. I think I lost his number because he was more interested in hunting than actually dating. Besides, didn't he move to upstate New York?"

Mary Margaret smiled brightly in celebration as Emma headed behind the old fashioned dressing screen with the a-line dress. "He's coming to the wedding. But I heard he's bringing a date. Still, I could…"

Emma's sweater flew over the screen. "You are hopeless."

"Oh no, Emma, I always have hope. Even for you and your love life."

***AAA***

If Emma had learned anything about her friend, there were two things that Mary Margaret could not be trusted with at all. First, there were secrets. Her friend loved to share information, though never maliciously. And second, Mary Margaret loved the idea of her friends in love. So it should not have come as a surprise as Emma sat down next to Ruth in the warm living room with a glass of wine that she had not even sipped before David was driving up the drive with someone sitting in the passenger seat.

Pushing back a few strands of her hair that refused to stay behind her ear, Emma surmised through the gossamer curtains that it was Killian Jones sitting there next to his supervisor with a patient smile on his face. Ruth, who was having one of her good days in terms of recognizing people, must have noticed too, as she began to hum and asked Emma about the young man.

"He's a fine one," Ruth told her, clasping her hands just under her sagging chin. "Such a cute accent. I'd snap him up if I was in your shoes."

"So I noticed," Emma muttered just low enough that the woman didn't hear her. Emma was about to retreat upstairs when Henry bolted from a side room and collided with her. "David's friend's here; and Mary Margaret said he has a boat. Do you think he could take me sailing?"

"Kid, I'm not…" Emma could hear the distinct sounds of boots on the front porch and her eyes wandered madly for some place, any place to hide. This was ridiculous, she told herself. She had just that morning thrown herself at him in order to get him to agree to be her fake date. And when he refused, he had done so in a way that actually made her feel like he might actually like her. She should be flattered, but she wasn't. She was worried that she would actually believe one of his slick lines about how lovely she looked or how brilliant her ideas were when she mentioned them. She might actually like him in return, a concept that she wasn't even close to entertaining.

"Mom?"

"I need to check on something, kid," she said, flexing her hands in front of herself and then lowering them again. "I'll be right back." The last thing she heard as she ducked into the kitchen was her son laughingly welcoming his surrogate uncle home.

"You," she hissed at Mary Margaret who seemed to be counting plates on the kitchen island. "You invited him? I thought we talked about how…"

"I had already invited him, did it after David said you two seemed pretty chummy this morning. How was I to know you weren't into him? Anyway, he's a bachelor who never gets a home cooked meal. I couldn't throw out the invitation and tell him…what? What would you have me tell him?"

Emma pressed her hands to the softly sanded wood of the corner of the island, her arms extended and holding her weight. "I don't know, but I can't…you can't expect…"

"Emma, you said that everyone tells you he's a nice guy. You even agreed that he was." She turned to pull a pot of some sort of sauce off the stove and began to carefully drizzle it over the perfectly composed dishes. "And you had a good time with him last night. This is no different. Just more people. And you can't avoid him totally. That would look awkward at the wedding when you're the maid of honor and he's the best man."

Pushing herself back to erect standing, Emma folded her arms over her chest and snarled at her friend. "I resign. You can get Ruby to do it."

The usually exuberant Mary Margaret remained calm as she sauced the last plate and returned the heavy pot back to the gas stove. That was a bad sign, even her students knew it. When the teacher got silent, her lips drawing into a thin line, one had better watch out. Her next words would sting worse than any physical pain. "I didn't ask Ruby. I asked you. Now, I get that you have your walls, Emma. I have ignored them and let them be for long enough. I'm not asking you to marry the guy or even have sex with him. I'm asking you to be polite to my friend and David's friend during dinner. If you can't do that, I can make your excuses and let you eat in the kitchen." Grabbing two of the plates, Mary Margaret backed her way through the door to dining room. A few moments later Emma could hear her friend welcoming David home and saying something to Killian. She made out the sound of her name.

"That's alright, love. I understand. Perhaps it might be better if I simply left. I don't want to…"

She was right, Emma thought, feeling her face burn with embarrassment. Killian was a nice guy, a guy who had been a victim of the overly involved friends too. She didn't hate him. She was simply embarrassed that he had seen her desperation to keep her friends' happy and her lack of ability to have anything resembling a real date. He didn't deserve to wonder what he'd done wrong or to anger her.

Exhaling, she grabbed two more of the plates and just as Mary Margaret had done, she backed her way into the dining room. Only she was pretty sure Mary Margaret had not nearly collided with the tall, dark Englishman. That was all Emma.

"Whoa there, Swan. Those plates look quite delicious, but landing on the floor might not do much for their appeal." He was smiling at her, bright and nonchalant like she wasn't seconds away from dropped pork loin, polenta, zucchini, and green beans all over his soft leather jacket. He even reached out and rescued the most precariously balanced dish.

"Hi, Killian," she said, trying hard to match his smile. "I didn't realize you were joining us."

She pretended that David's cough was due to allergies or even an impending cold rather than the obvious laugh disguised as a cough. It was easier that way.

"I've learned when my supervisor invites me to dinner, there's no place else I should be, love." He gave a brief nod of his head in the direction of the betrothed couple who were not even pretending to not watch and hang on every word. "Besides, I enjoyed your company so much last night that I wanted to make sure it wasn't a fluke."

For a moment she felt like she was on a first date, her pseudo brother and mother watching, his girlfriend cheering silently. And then she remembered her 10 year old son. Henry, who had seen her return from fake dates that were part of her job, but never actually known her to have so much as a drink with a man. A son who was bouncing on the balls of his feet and asking about a boat. A son who she was sure was conspiring against her.

"Aye, lad, I sure do," he said, his eyes staying focused on Emma as she pulled away and placed the plates on the table. "She's not much to look at this time of year, but in a few months…"

Emma didn't hear the rest as she retrieved another pair of plates and shimmied past the engaged couple to place them on the other side of the table. There were no more to get, which meant no retreat for the next bit as David began to make noises about pouring the wine for all the guests – with the exception of Henry. And her son, who normally had to be reminded that you didn't burp in public or chew with your mouth open, approached the elderly Ruth and without asking pulled out her chair for her. She would have been proud if it wasn't for Killian's hand on the back of a chair doing the same for her. When she thanked him for the gesture, he simply leaned a little closer to her and whispered, "I'm always a gentleman."

Though she had nothing to compare it to, Emma was sure that David was channeling his best big brother impression by telling embarrassing stories about her and some about Killian. Ruth laughed demurely behind her napkin and Mary Margaret gave a few consoling pats of her hand, but it was Henry and Killian that enjoyed them the most. She was about to plot the deaths of them all as she sat with her wine glass in hand and wondered why Killian's leg was bumping into hers in a not totally unpleasant way. If she was honest, it distracted her, as did his laugh that was rich and full. It distracted her so much that she actually never even finished her first glass of wine by the time everyone had eaten dessert.

"You wouldn't mind, would you Emma?" David asked, his cheeks flushed and his hands full of dirty dishes he was carrying back to the kitchen. "It wouldn't look to good for the sheriff to drive while intoxicated."

Mary Margaret couldn't hide her pleasure at the question and was not so subtly standing at the door to the kitchen to listen more than direct. "He lives a few blocks from Granny's. You won't have any trouble."

Emma's green eyes danced from one person to another in confusion for having missed the original part of the conversation. Only Killian had the audacity to look slightly embarrassed about whatever plot they were having now. "What?"

Suddenly the bride was tossing a set of keys at her and making some excuse that David's truck was far more reliable than her old car. "You didn't have too much to drink so we thought you might drive Killian home." Before Emma could protest or even get a good grip on the keys, David and Mary Margaret were gone into the kitchen. Her son was walking with Ruth into the living room to discuss cows or something else farm related.

"I could call a cab," Killian said, shifting his weight and lowering his head. "I honestly didn't think that…"

"She's relentless, remember?" Emma asked, gripping the keys so tight that the teeth of them bore into her palms. "Let me just get my jacket. It's better to go along sometimes than fight her."

The next thing she knew they were side by side in the truck and she was searching for where to turn on the headlights. He knew how, of course, and leaned across the narrow middle seat to show her. When she jumped at the incidental contact of his hand against her wrist, he apologized.

"Stop," she said, shaking her head and throwing the truck in reverse. "You were…I'm just a little on edge."

"I would apologize for putting you in such a state, but I gather you wouldn't take to it very well. So instead I'll offer to let you pick the station on the radio." His right hand folded over the left prosthetic and he leaned his head back against the window. "David has horrid taste in music so no doubt we'll both appreciate the change."

The song on the radio was scratchy and out of tune, something she identified with bad college bars and students attempting to make their mark on the world with something other than their courses of study. "Yeah, we definitely need to change that. I'm surprised he hasn't upgraded to satellite radio, but I guess this truck is pretty old."

Opening just one eye to look at her, Killian let his head roll to one side. "You mean that wee vessel that you captain has been outfitted with such a modern convenience? And here I thought you were a purist, Swan."

"No, but I do know most radio stations on the eastern seaboard. Not from satellite either. It's more of a necessity when you're stuck in a car during a stake out."

"Aye," he said, not bothering to nod as he let his eyes fall shut again. "I've found a better selection through the data connection on my phone." He must have felt her quick but curious glance as he grinned even with his eyes shut. "My car's a refurbished 1967 model, darling, it didn't come with much more than an antenna."

She hummed a sound of disappointment. "Wow, a muscle car and a boat. I'm beginning to wonder if you're compensating for something there, buddy." Keeping one hand on the wheel, she flipped the stations without much luck, as most were talk radio about local high school basketball tournaments or politics. "Especially since you're such a light weight and need a ride home after only having half a glass more than I did."

"I didn't have my car, love. And for someone as perceptive as you seem to be, you should be aware of Dave's reluctance to let anyone drive this truck. I believe he had it put in the pre-nup for the wedding."

"I'm aware," she said, slowly making the turn down Elm Street toward Maple. "I just simply thought after all the talk about how close you were to him…"

His shifting in the seat made her well aware of how close the cabin of the truck made them sit, his arm brushing hers and the sounds of moaning contentment as he found a better position echoing in her head. "We're mates, evidenced by his willingness to let his lovely fiancé try to set me up with the lass he considers a sister."

"Right," she said curtly. "And you're not interested in pretending that worked out to get them off our backs right? You had to know I would be at dinner tonight and yet you still came along. That seems like faking an interest to me."

He pulled his jacket closed over his chest and turned his now open eyes toward the darkened passenger window. "I always appreciate Mary Margaret and David's cooking, as well as the stories that Ruth tells of this town before it became the booming metropolis that it thinks it is now. And tonight I most assuredly appreciated the conversation with your son who seems to have an avid interest in sailing though his lovely mother doesn't share the same. And as for my interest in you, I already told you, love, that I am not faking anything. I find that such dramatics usually backfire anyway. Should you like to do so, I'd be interested in escorting you out tonight to see if there might be something to Mary Margaret's perceived connection between us. So what do you say, Emma? Fancy a drink with me?"

She cleared her throat, making the hard left turn that required both of them to keep their balance on the smooth leather seat. "I don't know if that's a good idea," she said, not taking her eyes from the road. "David expects the truck back and I'm the designated driver not your drinking buddy."

"It's only a short walk from my flat, the pub I was talking about. Fine drinks and even soda should you prefer not to trust yourself under the influence." From the periphery of her vision, she could see that his tongue was darting out over his bottom lip and his hand had disappeared behind his head in a move that if she knew him better would indicate his nerves. "So what do you say? Care to spend a little bit longer with me?"

It was a bad idea, she told herself, but one that she wanted to explore. She wasn't staying in town past the wedding so what did a drink even matter. It would give her something else to do besides play video games with Henry and talk the potential of fairy tale romances with Mary Margaret. "Why not?" she asked the universe, stopping the truck at a stop sign. "Lead the way."

When he called it a pub, he was being generous. It was typical of a bar in that there were bottles along one wall and a long bar like table where someone was serving drinks. There were two pool tables with dim hanging lights over them. Canned music was playing that sounded vaguely familiar.

"The Rabbit Hole?" she asked, reading the sign with its peeling paint. "Please tell me you're not a hipster too, Killian."

"There aren't many choices here in Storybrooke, love. It was either here or Granny's. I assumed you'd rather not risk seeing the Widow Lucas or her granddaughter. Especially while out with me." True to his offer, he ordered them both a soda and situated them at a pub table with an uneven leg about nine feet from the pool tables. She sniffed the tumbler carefully. "Just a glass of sugary soda. Unless you'd rather a diet?"

She took a sip and felt herself relax at the idea that he had not somehow tried to fool her into something more potent. "I'd rather not. No offense to those who drink it, but I swear that diet stuff is just creating a false sense of being healthy. Give me the real stuff." Their table should have fit four people at least, but one of the chairs was missing and the other was so uneven that one could not sit in it properly. So that was why Killian was sitting next to her rather than across. That's what she told herself anyway as his dimpled smile grew larger.

"I prefer to enjoy all that life has to offer too, Swan," he said easily. His good hand circled around the glass and he tapped a ringed finger against it to the beat of the song playing.

She was about to ask him about that song and the music he might like when she saw one of the television stations broadcasting weather rather than sports. Pinks and whites covered the map of the state as the tall woman gestured to it wildly. The production was cheap and not exactly high tech, but she looked on with fascination. Killian must have assumed that was about the inclement weather and let his hand and even shoulder drift over to brush against her reassuringly. She might not have jumped like before, but she felt the warmth of him being close and wondered briefly if she was losing her mind.

"I know her," Emma said, squinting at the screen. For her first few years of adulthood she had worn glasses, dark frames that made her seem studious and almost introverted. But for the past few years she'd relied on contact lenses. "Zelena."

"Aye, she's the local weather predictor and does a passable job, I suppose. Though she has a flair for the dramatic. Quite amusing when a storm's not brewing and threatening the citizenry." His eyes flicked curiously for the screen. "Can't say that snow is that unusual of a forecast for December in Maine, love. Don't you get much of the same in Boston?"

She lowered her eyes to her partially empty glass and let her cheeks burn pink. "I'm not scared of snow, Killian. I was just surprised to see Zelena on television." She shook her head again. "So…" She began her standard questions again, which he patiently answered and threw in a few of his own.

"Do you enjoy Boston?" he asked, taking a long sip and then seemingly sinking against the hard wooden chair. "I had considered it there for a bit, even had an interview with the police department there. Nothing came of it though."

"I haven't been there too long. Actually I don't live anywhere very long. I sort of like to…I have commitment issues." Her shoulders lifted as if she had just revealed that to herself as well as him.

"Thanks for the warning. I suppose I have those myself. I am always looking for something. What? I'm not completely sure. I rather think it would be nice sometimes to be in a bigger city, disappear from it all for a while and not be on everyone's radar."

She could understand that. Didn't she feel that way sometimes, missing the anonymity of walking into a store at midnight without it being news the next day? When Mary Margaret had first invited her to come to the wedding, she had warned her friend that her penchant for one night stands wouldn't play as well in Storybrooke. Maybe that was part of the reason for the fix up. "Should you be telling me this? I am close with your boss. What if I told him?"

"It's not secret, love. I hold few of those. Dave's not under the delusion that I plan to be the Barney to his Andy for the rest of my days."

They had shared a few more anecdotes about themselves and even a few funny moments over their chilled drinks. It was then that the song switched again to a more up tempo beat, reverberating off everything to the point of distortion. Killian extended his hand again. "Fancy a dance before we indulge in our sodas any longer?"

Glancing over his shoulder, she could find nobody else dancing in the dimly lit area. There were several burly men playing pool and a woman sobbing as her friends consoled her. Two men were seated near one of those large televisions watching a football game. Otherwise the place was empty. "I don't think this is a dancing kind of place."

"You don't strike me as the kind of woman who would worry about being the first or the only," he remarked, grinning as she shifted and gave another look at the empty floor. Extending his hand, he tried again to entice her. He probably thought he was wearing her down. At least that's what she assumed when she felt her palm slap against his and her feet move in the direction of what he seemed to view as a dance floor.

She would have expected him to have waited for a slower song, used it as an excuse to hold her close to him. He didn't. The beat thrummed through her and her ears pounded with the rhythm that they both fell into easily. Despite not actually touching, they were close enough to do just that, hips snapping in harmony as both twisted and turned in their best attempts. His dimples flashed as she bent her knees deeper and jolted upwards in an impressive display.

The song changed and his hand darted out toward hers, joining them together and resting fisted at her hip. He didn't really need to do it, but he made half a step closer to her and slowed his movements to the new cadence of the song. "You're a brilliant dancer, Swan."

She didn't meet his eyes, keeping a trained look on the way their entwined hands were still by her waist and his other arm snaked around her a bit. "You're…you're not bad either."

They ended up dancing for quite a while longer, the music secondary to the way he seemed to hold her without overstepping his bounds or making her uncomfortable. She was enjoying it, her cheeks hurting from smiling at his attempts to mimic her movements and laughing as some of those burly men joined in their party too. When one of them tried to cut in, Killian had not even teased her about her panicked expression when a gentle yet giant man named Anton reached for her. Instead he wrapped both arms protectively around her and told Anton to, "bugger off." His arms didn't leave her and she didn't protest in the least.

Later when they pulled up outside his apartment, she bit into her bottom lip nervously. "I should get the truck back before David freaks. You know he's not that cool about even me driving it."

Killian unfastened his belt and leaned toward her slightly. "You could call him, perhaps come in for a bit."

"It's almost 1 a.m.," she reminded him. "I'd say he is probably calling 911, but I think you'd get that call."

"Emma, I know you weren't happy about this whole…"

"I don't blame you for that," she interrupted hastily. "I think…I mean, if I lived here and you were…well…"

He chuckled breathily and lifted her right hand off the steering wheel of the parked truck. "I think so too," he told her as if he understood what she was fumbling to say. "I suppose I should go inside, even if you aren't joining me. My brother is likely to come out here with an order for the market or telling me what appliance he has broken."

Her eyes narrowed on her hand resting limply in his, burning when he bent his head down to brush his warm lips against the back of it first and then her palm. "Good night," she said, shaking as she pulled her hand back at the same time he released it. "I'll see you…"

"Tomorrow...or that would be tonight, I suppose. The happy couple is having one of their attendant get togethers. It's part of the reason why David and Mary Margaret thought we would make a good pair."

"Right," she nodded, her right hand still hanging in midair as if she wasn't sure what to do with it after his gentle kiss. "I will see you tonight."


	3. Chapter 3

Thank you for understanding piratesails. I'm feeling much better now and even starting to thaw out from another round of snow and ice. I didn't mean for this to be so long, but I got a bit carried away. I hope you are enjoying and can see a few of the moments we talked about. Here's a hint about Part 4...get your syrup ready.

She could see their shadows through the curtains that she had been staring through earlier that evening. The shorter of the two figures was perched closest, her chin resting on her arms at the back of the chair and her knees digging into the seat. Pulling her gray knit cap down and burrowing her hands into the pockets of the jacket that was not appropriate for the cold wind that was blowing, Emma made her way up the steps and onto the porch, halfway expecting Mary Margaret to have vacated her spying spot to throw open the door and demand an explanation for her tardiness.

"It's unlocked," the teacher called out as Emma slipped inside and tried to ignore the pointed stares the couple was shooting her. "Have a good time?"

"He's home, safe and sound," she announced, dropping the keys into David's waiting hand.

"And you both suck, by the way. He wasn't drunk. And you clearly aren't either."

"I wouldn't say I was drunk," David conceded, pocketing the keys and looking away in that just got caught sort of way. "But I didn't think it was a good idea for me to drive. I had…"

"A headache," Mary Margaret offered up as a reason, the splotches on her face and tight voice giving away the lie. "And anyway, I'd say that it wasn't a bad thing that you drove him home. I mean it's just 15 or 20 minutes to his place. And it's past midnight now. So you clearly hung out a while or you got lost." She had flipped herself around to a more comfortable and not so obvious sitting position. Clapping her hands in front of her chest, she grinned. "Maybe you two got lost together, shared some body heat?."

"I don't need to know this," David grumbled, standing up and making a grab for bowl of popcorn remnants. "I'm going to go check on Henry. He's been in bed a while now."

Emma yanked her arms out of her jacket and balled her knit hat in her hands, mumbling a thanks to David as he made his escape. She dropped down to the spot on the couch where he had been sitting and tutted her tongue against the top of her mouth at her friend's hopeful expression. "Nothing happened. Nothing is going to happen. Can we stop with the random get Emma and Killian together plots? What's next? Trapping us in an elevator?"

Unconvinced, Mary Margaret leaned forward, her face flushed either from having actually been drinking or excitement. Emma hoped it was the former. "Was there at least a good night kiss?"

Emma rolled her eyes and threw back her head in exasperation. "You know I hate you, right? Not really, but there was no kiss. We aren't in a kissing kind of place."

If her friend was disappointed, there was no sign of it as she pulled out her phone and scrolled threw a few screens. "We? You're a we? I took this tonight," she said conspiratorially though there was nobody in the room. "That look? That one right there. That's the look of man who is most certainly interested in you. No doubt, Emma. And for the record, I noticed that you had a few looks going his way too. I think my stepmother would call that making eyes."

Refusing to look at the proffered phone and its photos, Emma slammed her eyes shut. For good measure, she fisted her hands against them. "Nobody is making eyes at each other. I'm not interested in him. He's not interested in me. And yes, I said we. It's appropriate to use we instead of listing our names each time."

"It would be okay if you were interested, you know? More than okay."

"I'm going to bed now, Mary Margaret." She tried her hardest to ignore the humming of a love song that followed her up the stairs and into her bedroom. It probably didn't work, as she found herself humming the same tune as she readied herself for bed.

***AAA***

Henry bounded ahead of her, his excited chatter keeping up along the street as they made their way past quaint little shops and stores until they reached Granny's. If he had not been weighed down by the parka, gloves, scarf, and hat she had made him wear, he might have actually skipped with excitement over the trip to see Ruby and Granny. She was sure it wasn't about the food as it was about the attention and spoiling he was about to experience.

Pushing open the door and waving him in, she just shook her head as Ruby dropped a stack of menus to embrace the child before he even removed the outer layers of clothing. Swaying back and forth with her arms around him, she called out Granny to come see Henry.

"Looks as though he's angling for a free meal there, Swan," Killian announced, startling her from her reverie with his presence.

"Most kids lean toward being grifters when they can," she said, unwinding her own scarf from around her neck. "What are you doing here?"

"Lunch break," he said pointing to the booth that he seemed to have commandeered for himself. The table was covered with paperwork. "David's been a bit lax on some of his responsibilities lately. I was trying to help my mate out by completing a little paperwork for him."

"At Granny's?" she asked, quirking an eyebrow. "Isn't this a bit…loud? Distracting?"

"Not half as distracting as the chill in the sheriff's station," he responded, reaching out his good hand to help her slide out of the red wool coat she'd borrowed for Mary Margaret. "Heat's on the fritz and Leroy, who usually knocks around until he fixes such things, is currently home in bed with the flu. I thought it might be more productive to set up shop here."

She glanced at the crowded table and the two mugs of coffee, assuming that meant he had company. "We won't disturb you," she said, nodding her head in the direction of her son. "I just promised to bring Henry by and we were going to grab some lunch." Her son's parka, hat, and possibly one of his gloves were strewn over the counter and Granny's voice could be heard from the kitchen as she called out his name.

"I do believe your lunch date has abandoned you, Swan," he said, eyes dancing as he watched her annoyed pose. "You are welcome to join me, if you should like?"

Pursing her lips, she looked back at the table. "It looks like you already have company."

The corners of his mouth turned down in confusion as he followed her gaze with scrutiny he usually reserved for investigations. Zeroing in on the mugs, he tried not to let his appreciation for her clearly jealous reaction to two empty mugs show. He was partially successful. It's a bit of a mess, which is not my style. I started off with a cup of tea, but needed something more robust to get my brain cells firing with some precision." He was rambling.

"I can't imagine why you would be tired," she said, following him over to the table and ignoring the voice in her head that told her Ruby was probably peeking out from the service window and texting Mary Margaret notice of this development. "I mean it's not like we were out way past bedtime or anything."

"Aye, but the company was so enjoyable that I didn't find it all that taxing." He waved his good hand over the paperwork and then set to stacking it back in semi-order. "This on the other hand could put a caffeinated man to sleep for a thousand years. Thankfully you are here to rescue me from such doldrums of balance sheets and projections."

She leaned forward in the booth, her arms resting in a folded position at the edges of the papers and journals. "At least I'm good at being a distraction." Her quick glance in the direction of the kitchen confirmed her suspicions as she saw Ruby dart out of view as soon as their eyes met. "I know you've been getting a little bit of liquid nutrition, but have you had lunch yet? I have a distinct feeling that Ruby will be asking for our orders any second now."

Dropping the stack of paperwork on the seat next to him, he pushed the empty cups to the edge of the table. "Not surprising. She has to at least come over and get a good look before reporting any developments back to the boss."

"The boss?"

"Aye, Mary Margaret of course. The woman has clearly recruited an army of well-meaning citizens to encourage us to spend time together. If I was a conspiracy believing bloke, I might think she busted the station's radiator simply to have me here at the same time as you."

She laughed, passing him a menu that probably had not changed in decades and was therefore not really needed. "I don't know that she'd go that far, but she and David were looking guilty last night when I got back and he was completely sober. I'm just grateful she didn't drain the gas tank so we got stranded or something."

He was going to offer a quip back when Ruby arrived with two glasses of water and a knowing smile on her stylized red lips. "So the specials today…"

"I just want a grilled cheese and onion rings," Emma interrupted, noting that Ruby wasn't even pretending to write down the order. "And a hot cocoa with…"

"Whipped cream and cinnamon," Ruby finished for her. "Your kid's in the back having his and trying to convince Granny to put in a good word about some new video game. Must think she has an in with Santa."

Emma could have challenged back again, but she didn't. That would mean encouraging Ruby to stick around longer than necessary and offer more fodder for what she was sure was going to be a congratulatory message marathon between the two brunettes. So instead, she let Killian order a double stack burger. He was vacillating between the fries and onion rings when she reached over and snatched the menu out of his hands. "He'll take the fries with cheese and bacon," Emma announced confidently. Ruby nodded her head a little surprised as she turned and walked away.

"A bit bossy there, Swan?" he asked, chuckling. "Not that I mind a woman taking charge. It's quite attractive actually."

She dropped her straw into the ice water and stirred it around for a second. "I wanted the fries too, but it seemed a little much to order both. So I thought we could…"

"Share?" he asked, smiling.

***AAA***

David was flipping through a photo album with his mother when she and Henry returned, his voice soft and gentle as he questioned his mother about the people in one of the faded shots. He lifted his head as Emma told Henry to go grab something to drink and plates for the food in the bag she was still holding..

She greeted both the Nolans, depositing a kiss on Ruth's cheek as she took the seat on the other side of her. "Good day?" she asked David.

"We're struggling a little, but not too bad. I thought you were going to pick up lunch at Granny's. Did you forget us? That bag's kind of small." He patted his mother's hand as she traced over the picture of David from a Christmas when he was only 10.

"Henry and I already ate, you pig," she admonished, removing her gloves. "Do you honestly think I would forget you?"

"I wouldn't blame you," he admitted, helping his mother to stand as they moved as a group into the kitchen to sit around the small table there. "Emma, I know you weren't thrilled about this whole introducing you to Killian thing."

"Why wouldn't she be happy about that?" Henry asked, sliding plates in front of them and returning to the refrigerator for drinks. "Killian's cool." Emma leaned into her hand as she sat at the table, covering her mouth to avoid smiling or frowning inappropriately.

"Right," David said, shifting his gaze back and forth between mother and son. "Anyway, you know how Mary Margaret can be. It wasn't fair to you for her to keep trying to set you up to meet and spend time together."

Henry stopped midstride with a bottle of water in each hand. "Is that why he was there today, Mom? I thought he was working."

"Today?" David and Ruth asked at the same time. Ruth received a squeeze to her shoulder from David for taking part in the conversation. "Killian was there today?"

Emma busied herself sliding lasagna onto plates and passing little containers of salad to them both as she opened packets of salad dressing. She was divvying up the plastic utensils when Henry answered.

"Yeah, I didn't get to talk to him or anything. I got to hang out in the kitchen." Henry flopped down next to his mother. "Granny gave me an extra slice of pie. She said it was healthy because it's got fruit in it."

"If you can't tell, David, Henry takes after your wife to be. He seriously can't keep a secret." She twisted off the cap of Ruth's water and glanced back at her son expectantly. "Go on. Tell him that I had lunch with Killian. Tell him that if that was part of Mary Margaret's scheme, it worked."

David was barely containing his laughter. "Thanks for the update, Henry. We'll include you in the next strategy session."

***AAA***

"And why exactly is he picking me up for this little shindig?" Emma asked, trying to ignore the fact that she had changed her top four times in the last five minutes to find one that looked halfway decent. "I have a car. I can get both me and Henry there without a problem. You do realize I drive all around Boston every single day without incident."

"Your heater barely works in that car," Mary Margaret said patiently. "David's already here with me to do the last minute prep or he'd drive you."

Tucking her phone against her chin, she ripped off the burgundy top and stood there in the center of the room with her best skinny jeans, boots, and bra. For a moment she considered asking her friend if she could raid her closet for something a little softer than her normal grays and blacks. But that would require a conversation about appearances that she just wasn't ready to have at the moment. "My heater is fine," Emma said as she dug into her suitcase hoping that she had packed something she had forgotten about. She came up empty. "It'll be warm and ready within 20 minutes."

"It'll just take 10 minutes to get to the bowling alley," Mary Margaret reminded her. "So you won't be warm until 10 minutes after you arrive. Not exactly the best for your son, you know."

"You're really annoying, you know that? Already playing the mom card on me." She threw herself back on the bed in frustration, booted feet flying high and bouncing off the mattress.

"Fine. He can pick me up. But just so you know, it doesn't mean anything. It's just a ride to an event. That's it. I'm riding home with you and David."

"Of course. I knew you'd see it my way," Mary Margaret sing-songed. "By the way. If you need a shirt, I laid a few out on my bed. Take your pick." And with that, she disconnected the call.

That was how Emma ended up wearing a royal blue boat neck sweater that seemed to make her eyes look more seafoam than emerald. She had put up the sides of her hair by braiding them and then wrapping them around like a headband across the crown of her head. The rest of her hair hung in loose waves down her back. Silver shooting star earrings and her circle necklace were the only jewelry she wore and her make up was just as minimal.

"You look pretty, Mom," Henry told her when she dropped in to check on Granny who was going to sit with Ruth that evening. The two women were playing checkers in front of the fireplace as the Mrs. Lucas kept up a steady stream of conversation about this and that. The women echoed her son's sentiment and sent her blushing out to the porch where Killian was getting ready to knock.

"You could have just honked," she said as her son slid in to the backseat and he closed the door after her. She smiled while rolling her eyes as he jogged around the car and jumped in the driver's seat. While she wouldn't admit it to Mary Margaret, his car was more comfortable and much warmer than hers.

"Where is fun in that?" he asked. "I realize you and I aren't on an actual date, love, but honking to signal my arrival seems a bit crass."

That earned him her signature crossed arm pose while he and Henry discussed which kind of music to play on the car's upgraded sound system. It seemed all a bit much for a 10 minute drive. By the time they had arrived they had only heard one and half songs. She was still holding the seat back to let Henry out while he had darted ahead and was trash talking playfully with David.

"It's just bowling, Swan. I assure you that this crowd is competitive but lacks real talent. No need to be embarrassed." He fell in step beside her, his arm brushing against hers. Even through the gloves they both wore, she could have sworn his right hand brushed her left.

"You don't know how competitive I can be," she responded as she steeled herself up for a group of perky women like Mary Margaret and the men who loved them. Ruby, her one real ally in all this was perched on a stool at the bar, her face blazing with a smile that was clearly directed at the tall dark haired woman at her side. Even as an advocate for the single life, Emma had to admit the two of the looked really happy as Dorothy stole Ruby's vodka laced cranberry drink and took a sip herself before sharing a quick kiss.

"Are you saying I should prepare to lose?" he asked, nudging her with his hip as they walked toward shoe rental. "Because I can assure you that I have no qualms about taking you down."

Henry had already wiped her out of change and dollar bills for the video game arcade that he was dragging David toward along with another man in a leather jacket with a hoodie underneath. A boy about five years old was following along. The curly haired moppet of a boy turned unsteadly on his heels when he saw Killian and waved more than enthusiastically in their direction.

Killian of course waved back just as violently. "That's Roland, my mate Robin's son. I believe he's to carry the rings in the ceremony."

"Right," Emma said, smiling as the little boy tugged on his father's jacket and pointed in their direction again. "Looks like you've been spotted." Robin, with his son in his arms, was jogging over to where they were in line.

Roland was even more adorable up close with a missing tooth and cheeks that seems round and cherubic as he smiled brightly. He pronounced the name of the man next to her as carefully as he could, emphasizing each letter of Killian. It was clearly something he had been practicing.

"Pleasure to meet you," Robin said, shaking her hand as he shared a not so secret look with Killian. His son slid down his leg and was craning his neck up to his idol. "I've heard a great deal about you."

"Somebody brought me someone to play with," Roland announced proudly, waving his arm in the direction of the arcade where Henry was loading up his newly acquired play pass. "I'm going to play video games. And I'm going to win."

Killian dropped down to eye level with Roland, giving the boy a quick high five. "You see this lovely lass here?" he asked, earning a nod and a blatant stare at her from Roland. "Well, this lass is Henry's mum."

The boy's exploring gaze turned to one of awe as he stared up at her. "Really?"

The adults laughed at his exuberance, as if he had been introduced to a celebrity instead of the mother of a child he had just met a few minutes before. Emma stooped down in a position that mimicked Killian's own. "Nice to meet you, Roland."

There probably would have been more conversation, but Mary Margaret had that teacher voice on to instruct everyone on just how the evening would operate. Bowling would be first, followed by drinks and food, and then everyone could do their own thing.

Emma quirked an eyebrow at Killian who for some reason that she didn't quite understand, was standing next to her still with the occasional incidental touch. "There is more to do than bowl or drink?"

"Aye, this is quite the place, love. Besides the obvious and the arcade, there is a rock climbing wall that way and an indoor go-kart track in the rear. I didn't look, but the owners usually do some sort of outdoor skating rink too."

"Wow," Emma said, glancing around at the abundance of neon and screens. "When I was here last it was just a bowling alley."

Bowling wasn't something she had done often, but she possessed some skills. Or as Killian shouted when she got a strike during her first turn, she was a "natural." She'd been so pleased with her performance that she had hugged him on the way back to her seat. Later Mary Margaret would refer to it more as a tackle, but for that one moment she didn't care. She had bounced up onto the balls of her feet in the rented shoes and thrown her arms wide before closing in around him in an embrace that he fully returned.

"It was just a hug," Emma told the bride the next day when it was clear they were going to do a post mortem on the subject. "I was excited. He was the closest."

"Actually," Mary Margaret said, sipping out of a tea cup with a flower and bird pattern on the side, "he wasn't. I was standing to your right and I think Regina was on your left. And you passed two more people when you sort of barreled toward him. Not that it wasn't a perfectly innocent hug."

That night Emma wasn't thinking about innocent or hidden agendas and innuendos. She simply enjoyed the activity and the company. She hadn't even freaked out when she was introduced to one of the bridesmaids, Tink, who was draped on the arm of Killian's younger brother. The couple seemed to eye her with gleeful vindication as they asked about her background and made silent but obvious glances at the way Killian rested his arm on the back of her chair or whispered to her when certain people were taking their turns.

"You really don't have to do this," Emma said as he walked alongside her to the arcade to hunt down Henry. Despite several stern warnings that he was to stay in her line of sight, he had disappeared a few minutes before. "I'm capable…"

"No one, least of all me, is doubting your abilities, love," Killian told her as he pushed a chair out of their path so that they could both pass the snack bar. "But you have to admit that there are quite a few people watching us with anticipation that I might kiss you right here in front of everyone. I wouldn't be surprised if there are not a few wagers on the timing of it all and our next steps."

She cut her eyes at him, shaking her head. "We can talk about next steps later. Let's go find my son and see what sort of damage he's done."

The damage turned out to be a stomach ache from trading in his game winning tokens on some sour candy that he had eaten way too much of with sugary soda. Emma was about to give him a lecture when Killian stole the nearly empty bag of candy and popped one into his mouth, grimacing. "You actually eat this garbage?" he queried. "It would take a stomach made of iron to digest such junk. I'm quite impressed, as it would have me in bed for a month at least."

Henry just groaned, dropping his head to his lap. "He knows better than this," Emma declared, situating herself beside him and stroking his back. "I thought you were going to win the kayak or the bike."

"Do you know how many tokens that would take?" Henry whined pathetically. "Practically a million."

Emma rolled her eyes before turning her attention back to Killian. "Go join the others," she told him. "I'll be fine on mom duty alone. I may try to get some ginger ale down him and then get him home. Maybe David will…"

Killian ignored the request, dragging a chair over so that he was seated in front of her. "I can't see to abandoning your boy to go play games with the lot of them. Don't worry. Mary Margaret and Dave will understand."

Henry moaned again, throwing in an grunt or two of dissatisfaction and distress. Emma furrowed her brow. "You really don't have to do that."

"Perhaps I want to," Killian challenged. "I could drive the two of you back, if you like. Or I could procure you some of this ginger ale?"

Her lips thinned into a straight line as she considered his offer. "A small one," she requested. "Light on the ice?"

His hand patted her thigh as he stood and gave a cursory search at which of the fun zone's locations would be the best bet. After a moment he was gone with a promise to return directly.

"Mom?" Henry asked, his head still bowed and shoulders hunched.

"Yeah, kid," Emma responded, watching as Killian spoke to the freckle faced teenager behind the counter and was pointed in the direction of the establishment's bar and grill. It took her a moment to realize that Henry had not followed up. "What is it? Do you need to…"

"You like him," Henry said, turning his head to look toward her through glassy eyes. "Don't you?"

"You've been hanging around Mary Margaret and David too much."

"No, David thinks you kind of hate him. But you don't, do you? Because if you did you wouldn't…"

"Henry, I don't hate him," Emma said, rubbing a circle with the palm of her hand on the center of his back. It was a move she used to use when he was a baby and wouldn't stop crying. The soft flannel of his shirt that was so similar to David's felt soft under her hand. It was not the first time her son had sought out to look like one of the few men in his life. "But don't get any ideas. He lives here. We live in Boston. We're just here…"

"It's okay if you do like him," Henry continued, a groan and clutch of his stomach cutting him off. "I mean it's not going to scar me for life or anything. You know, Avery? His mom and dad are divorced. And then his mom started dating this guy. He's really cool and is a pilot and everything. And anyway Avery got to miss about a week of school last spring because his mom got married to the pilot guy. On a beach someplace? Killian owns a boat so you two could..."

"Whoa," Emma said, sinking lower in the molded plastic chair. "Henry, I'm not…"

"I know you don't know yet if you want to marry him. That's okay though. If you like him, you should date him. I think it would be okay."

"Nobody is talking about me marrying anybody," Emma said more harshly than she meant. "I mean we are doing fine on our own...just the two of us. And Killian doesn't. I mean he's a nice guy but I'm not really thinking about dating right now." She grimaced, uncomfortable even having this conversation with her 10 year old son. "Do you understand?"

"Poor guy," Henry lamented in that muffled tone from being curled into himself.

Emma was going to explain that Killian's status of bachelorhood was neither her fault or responsibility, but the man in question returned with a drink carrier, three drinks, and an oversized order of deluxe nachos. It was all balanced in his one good hand.

"I'm not sure the nachos are good for his stomach," she told him as she slipped the nacho basket onto the table and passed her son nearly ice-free drink. "But thanks?"

Killian shrugged as he returned to his seat and peeled the paper off the end of his straw. "I assumed that we would miss dinner with the gang so we might as well have a bit to chew on while we wait for the lad's miraculous recovery."

"You don't have to…"

"Swan, I'm well aware of my duties and responsibilities. Did it occur to you that I might want to sit with you and discuss politics, music, your amazing bowling game, or anything else other than David and Mary Margaret's pending wedding? I don't believe you give yourself enough credit for being a charming conversationalist when you so desire." He winked in an awkward way that made her wonder for a moment if he had something irritating his eye before she realized the gesture. It might actually have been the most awkward wink she'd ever seen except for her son trying to do that at 3 years old and simply blinking at her.

She didn't bother to tell him about his role in the wedding or how she thought he would be better off spending time with his brother, David, or even the mayor at that moment. No, they talked of Star Wars and his opinion of the latest additions to the franchise, her obsession with Outlander, and his not so secret following of soccer. He was about to tell her about his goal to buy season tickets when David approached them with a rueful and almost embarrassed expression on his face.

"Sorry we've been away, mate, but it sounds as though the party has been successful. I believe I heard limbo music playing earlier?" Killian folded his arms over his chest and craned his neck back to look up at his boss and friend. "How low did you go?"

David ignored the compliments to his social graces and knelt down next to Henry, speaking softly to the boy before turning to Emma. "So I know I'm supposed to drive you two home while Mary Margaret takes Regina and Zelena back into town. But here's the thing. The road to the farm is pretty bumpy and I'm not sure that's the best for Henry's stomach issues."

Killian seemed bemused as David twisted his face into a dreadful expression. "You worried the lad will spew the candy all over your truck?" Killian asked as Emma let her chin drop.

David squinted his eyes. "Well, I'm worried that it will just make the situation worse. He's already green. Maybe it would be better to get a room for him at Granny's? She's probably closer and the roads…"

Emma rolled her eyes, returning her hand to pat Henry's back as the boy made another groaning noise. He'd been better earlier when they discussed Star Wars. She had not missed that. "And you're worried about your truck, right?"

"Emma, I'm not…"

"Don't worry, mate," Killian said, throwing a napkin into the now empty nacho container. "I'll get them to safety. You get your precious truck home and I'll see to it that these two have a safe place to stay tonight."

David didn't wait to be told twice, hurrying out the door with most of the other party goers as Killian helped Emma steer Henry to his car. Henry sort of collapsed in the backseat, tucking his knees against him when Killian threw his jacket over him to use as a blanket during the ride. It was a bit unnecessary given that Henry was bundled up in his parka.

"Aren't you cold? And aren't you worried about the interior of your car?" Emma asked, as Killian cranked up the heat and waited for the light layer of frost on his windshield to melt. "I mean…"

"Like I said, Swan, if I was a conspiracy believing man, I'd assume they set all this up. Never underestimate Mary Margaret's ability to take advantage of a situation." He rubbed his hand against his jeans as the car's heater warmed the space quickly and he threw it into reverse.

Emma didn't ask if he honestly thought that her dearest friends might have been at the heart of the matter or even provided Henry with the overabundance of candy. That seemed cruel on their part and totally out of character. But she was beginning to agree to his thinking that it was awfully coincidental she was left abandoned and stranded right in front of the man they were trying to set her up with daily.

"This isn't Granny's," Emma said when he pulled into the parking lot of the apartments where he lived. Even in the low light of the car she could see the color rise on his cheeks as he leaned forward as if checking the stars for navigational directions.

"Granny is still at David's and Ruby seemed a bit inebriated. I assumed this might be a simpler solution." He held his right hand up, splaying the fingers wide. "I assure you I mean no malintent. I only thought you might be more comfortable…"

"In your bed?" Emma asked, skeptically. She was aware that he hadn't cut the engine to the car yet and her son was snoring in the backseat. "Sorry, habit. I always assume the worst."

He smiled, still staring up at the stars. "Do you see a lot of them? In Boston?"

"You're going to have to be more specific there, Killian."

"Stars? Since I first started learning to sail and probably even before, I always lived where I could see stars. I kind of think I'd be lost if I didn't see them." He fell back against the bucket seat and gave her a quick but sincere smile. "Dumb reason to want to stay here, I suppose."

A psychologist could have a field day with his little speech, but Emma wasn't a psychologist. Her hand was on the door handle and her eyes were narrow as she tried to look at his features in the dark. "I don't think it's a dumb reason."

Killian nodded, looking over his shoulder. "Your boy's asleep. Perhaps I could carry him? Might be easier that way."

She shook her head. "No, he's 10. He's too heavy for you. I mean you just have…" She stopped. She didn't want to bring up the hand, not knowing how sensitive he might be to her doubts. It didn't seem to bother him though, as he was already out of the car and pulling her son up as if he weighed nothing. They were already to the bottom step on their way up to his apartment by the time she had gotten out of the car.

She caught up to them when he was on the landing and without question reached into his front pocket to grab his keys. His eyebrows shot up ridiculously high at her intimate move, but he simply said yes when she asked if the door in front of them was his.

Henry was somewhat awake when Killian deposited him on the most neatly made bed she had ever seen. He half smiled at Killian who said with a smile of his own, "it's captain's quarters for you tonight, lad."

"Seriously," Emma asked, following Killian into the living room where he was pulling a beer bottle out of the refrigerator and then a second one that he dangled from his fingers as he motioned toward the comfortably overstuffed cushions of the couch. "You are giving up your bed for a 10 year old who ate too much candy?"

"He's closer to the bathroom in there and he'll sleep better on a bed than a sofa. I spend most nights dozing here with the telly on or a good book in my hand. So it makes no difference to me. Chloe and I can sleep any old place."

She was still standing to the right of the television, not wanting to retreat to the bedroom or join him on the couch. "Who is Chloe?"

"My cat," he said as if she should have already known that fact about him. On cue the cat bounded into the room, all white and fluffy with a single gray paw. She looked disdainfully at Emma before springing onto Killian's lap, then a pillow, and then over the back of the couch toward Liam's partially closed door. Without hesitation the cat butted her head against the door just enough to enter the darkened room.

"That's like seriously domestic," Emma said, taking the five steps to sit next to him on the couch with a large pillow between them. She reached over and grabbed one of the beers, taking a long sip before she studied him again. "Are you sure that's your brother and not like a love child you've been raising all these years?"

"Liam's 20," Killian chuckled. "I'm only 32. That would have been one hell of a childhood romance, love."

"Just checking." She looked around the living room and the lack of truly personal sort of decor that would have told her more about him. There were only a few photographs, no diplomas, awards, or souvenirs from vacations. Normally you could tell a lot about a man from his home, but Killian's seemed void of anything that might give her a clue. She wasn't sure she wanted to explore or even accept that part of her that wanted to know more about him.

"Looking for something?"

Her mouth turned downwards at the very thought of telling him she was curious. She decided to go with the more practical question. "So if Henry is sleeping in your bed...where am I sleeping? And you?"

"Well, I'm afraid I'm not wealthy enough for a third bedroom, love. But as I said, the couch is quite comfortable. Or the bed is large enough if you would like to be closer to your boy? I could find a spot on the floor with a blanket I suppose. And to be honest that chair is not the worst. I'm not all that accustomed to having multiple guests. While there is a bed in Liam's room, it's the one in this flat that probably isn't up to the standards of cleanliness I prefer. And he'll probably be back before dawn. So…"

"I'm not pushing you out of your bed and off your couch," Emma declared. She dragged the long sleeves of her sweater over her hands, using them as gloves as she curled around the bottle of beer.

"Then what do you propose, Emma?"

"I'll sleep in the bed with Henry or the chair. I'm used to sleeping in odd places." She took a long sip and closed her eyes. "I'm going to kill them by the way. I probably shouldn't admit that to a cop, but I'm willing to do the time."

He smiled, rubbing his fingers together in the direction of his cat as she entered the room again, this time eyeing Emma carefully as she strutted the long way around the couch toward Killian. Arching her back upward, she sought his fingers and the soothing tone of his voice. "Emma, there's no need for you to be uncomfortable."

"I could say the same for you." With her left hand, she yanked clumsily at her boots until they were in a pile next to her on a blue and gray rug. "Thank you. I should have said that before, but…"

"I take it that you prefer not being rescued?" he asked. "For what it is worth, I do not get the damsel in distress vibe from you at all."

Emma rolled her neck back, letting the cushion cradle around her head. "It's more about not wanting to be a burden. But yeah, I'm capable of rescuing myself."

"Never thought you weren't." He toed off his own boots, leaving them next to hers, closing his eyes for a moment as Chloe circled around him, under his legs and then retreated to the kitchen upon the discovery he had no food for her. "You seem to have everything under control, despite the molly coddling of a certain teacher we both know and love."

"Motherhood does that to you," she said, brushing off his compliment. "I have a kid in there right now who eats way too much candy, would watch Netflix or play video games until his eyes fell out, or would have cereal drenched in chocolate milk if he could. Someone has to be the adult in the situation."

"Aye, I know the feeling sometimes. My brother has a tendency to jump head first into the shallow end a few too many times. I have found myself actually using the phrase, 'not under my roof.' It's quite disconcerting."

Emma smiled, the bottle still in her hand and her knuckles nearly white from her tight grip. "Confession. I once found myself watching Caliou when Henry was in preschool. He'd been napping for a good 90 minutes, but I was sitting there watching it like it was the latest Oscar nominated movie. I even let a call I needed for work go to voicemail so I could find out what happened next. It was not my finest moment."

His thick brows shot up in what she hoped was comisserative compassion. It was more like wonder. "I don't think I've heard of this Caliou," he said, pronouncing it carefully. "I take it that the show was directed toward children."

The bottle back at her lips, she nodded. "Oh yeah. It's a horrible, awful show, about this bald little boy with the most annoying voice ever." Her face scrunched up at the memory. "I'm really embarrassed that I told you that."

"I'll never reveal your secret, Swan." He leaned forward in his seat, looked to the left and right as if someone might be listening in on them, and then pulled his phone out of his pocket. Scrolling a few screens, he handed it over to her. "My playlist."

She didn't remove the phone from his hand, cupping her hand under his instead. "ABBA? Please tell me you don't sing Dancing Queen in your squad car?"

He chuckled. "Only upon request from Dave, but no. Nobody knows about that particular guilty pleasure, love."

"Nobody, but me," she corrected, humming a few bars of Mama Mia.

"Aye, but I have dirt on you and your viewing habits. I would use this information very carefully. And I would also note that you not only named one of their songs but were humming another. One might believe you were a fan yourself."

"So we both have questionable tastes and maturity levels when it comes to entertainment." She shimmed her shoulders and exhaled dramatically, a clear sign she was about to make another confession. Killian set aside his beer and appeared to be on the edge of his seat for this announcement. "I'm kind of pissed that I missed out on the other fun stuff tonight. I'm a fan of go karts."

"Are you now?" he asked, right eyebrow going nearly as high as the dark fringe of his hair falling onto his forehead. "And I take it you do know how to play video games too?"

"Of course," she said, rolling her eyes dramatically. "I have a 10 year old with an obsession. Some nights I wouldn't get any answers from him about school at all if I didn't play. I'm good, by the way. I could totally kick your butt."

"Even if the game was driving?" he teased, stalking over to the television and pulling open a door to reveal a Wii console and controllers. "Old school, Mario Kart?"

She downed the rest of the liquid in her bottle and threw her arm out, palms up. "Hand it over, buddy. I will leave you in the dust."

She was good. So was he. It was a good match up, even if she did totally miss a turn because she was looking at his excited expression. He wasn't planning to let her win, as she would not appreciate the gesture and would want a fair fight. And for a few minutes it looked like she might lose. Then she whipped around him with one of her tools, leaving his own vehicle spinning in place as she crossed the finish line. The resulting victory dance was far more entertaining than he had hoped.

He leapt to his feet and joined with her, spinning her wildly and back into his arms again. She was a bit breathless and her free hand was fisted against his chest as she looked up at him with her lips parted and her long hair tickling his arm that was locked at her waist.

"Emma," he said softly, moving his own face closer to hers. The movement was slow and deliberate, giving her time to pull away. She didn't.

She did the opposite, rising up on the balls of her feet and meeting him halfway as their lips touched. Those first moments were tentative and soft before one of them, which one she wasn't sure, pressed a bit harder. The tip of his tongue traced over the seam of her mouth. The kiss was far from a field of flowers or under a starlit sky, but it was sweet, warm, and just a bit hungry as her hand crept up from his chest and her fingers splayed under is jaw. His hand was still holding hers, fingers knitted together and palms touching.

She was sighing into him, feeling for all the world like she was swaying or losing any grip on gravity that she might have when he pulled back. She would have denied it, but her mouth chased his for a second until her eyes fluttered open to see the concern in his.

"The door," he said softly, his tongue darting out to run along his own lips. "My brother...I hear his key."

"Oh," she said with growing realization. "Oh, I get it."

He squeezed her hand before letting go and flopping backwards onto the couch. "What would you say to a rematch, love? Or have I tired you out yet?"

Her hand fluttered up to her mouth and back down again as soon as the door opened and the young Liam stumbled int through it with an apology already echoing. "A rematch would be good."


	4. Chapter 4

_So I don't always do more explicit scenes. I hope this doesn't come off too bad._

"Mom?" Henry asked, rolling over in the bed that didn't belong to either of them and blinking rapidly to somehow see better in the dark. "Mom?"

"Yeah, kid?" She was next to him, a blanket that Killian had loaned her providing the perfect cocoon for sleep on a cold night. Well, it would have been a perfect one if she had not been staring up at the ceiling with increasing anxiety thrumming through her system. "Are you feeling better?"

"Yeah," he said, rolling onto his side. "Where are we?"

She wanted to laugh, as she had been asking herself the same question for about an hour now, ever since Killian had walked her to his bedroom door, brushed his lips against her knuckles, then her cheek, and finally her mouth. Just moments before he had been kissing her for, if she was a woman who counted such things, the fifth or sixth time that night. He had not pushed it more than that, which sort of amazed her and sort of made her respect him more. Her son was behind one door and his brother behind the other. What choice did they really have?

"Killian let us stay with him," she said, not wanting to offer more since she wasn't sure how much of David's objections to Henry making the trip back to the farm were valid and how much was simply a ploy.

"That's nice," Henry announced, flopping back to the pillow.

"Yeah," she said to herself. "Yeah it is."

She drew her knees up, the soft flannel of the sleep pants she had borrowed from Killian were a salve against her skin, having been washed so often they nearly felt like velvet. Every nerve ending had been firing since that first kiss, making her seriously consider if she was somehow going to burst into flames from the touch of his fingertips tracing the slight indentation on her chin or the brush of his knuckles along her cheek. She might not ever know anything more intimate given the way this had set her on edge.

As confident as he was, he had been tentative in each kiss, as if asking permission from her. While she didn't recall actually granting his request verbally, she must have indicated something to encourage him. And that was what had her awake with a white faux wood door between them. It's okay to like him were the words playing in her head. Everyone seemed to think that. They seemed to think that somehow she was normal enough as a person to actually carry on something of a relationship with a guy. If that is even where his mind was at? She didn't know. He probably didn't, she thought as she let her cheek rest against the pillow.

She probably would have come up with all the reasons why their shared kisses were just that and meant nothing more. What else is there to think of in the midst of insomnia? But her bladder had other ideas that had her leaving that safe cocoon and padding to the bathroom that was so freaking organized that she wondered if Killian might be a serial killer or at the very least OCD. She splashed some water on her face to wipe away the remnants of her makeup that was probably drying out her skin as she pretended to sleep. Dashing back to the bed, she was looking forward to at least the warmth of the blanket when she saw her son's new position. He was diagonal across the mattress. His head where hers had been and his feet on his corner, arms spread wide.

"Kid," she said, softly shaking him. "Henry?" His response was classic as he pulled her pillow over his head to ignore her. Nudging him a bit harder, she wasn't surprised that he didn't respond at all. Mornings were always tough and sometimes required blaring loud music or sound effects to get him awake. Doing so with Killian and his brother asleep on the other side of thin walls would not be very good etiquette for a houseguest. Sighing, she yanked the blanket she had been using away from him and backed her way into the living room.

She could see from the hallway light that Killian was sound asleep himself, a foot with a sock that was decorated with ship anchors was sticking out from beneath a knitted blanket that Emma suspected Granny may have made for him. His hair mussed in odd directions and the gloved prosthetic hand was detached from the brace and sitting atop his coffee table. She found herself smiling at the way his lips were parted in sleep, small puffs of breath escaping every so often.

"The chair it is," she said to herself softly. But as she turned to the oversized piece of furniture that had a somewhat lopsided ottoman next to it, she noticed Emma was curled up in a ball directly in the center of the seat. "Okay, not the chair." Holding the blanket around her like a shawl, she let her eyes dart between the chair with its sleeping cat and the bedroom door where her son was taking up far too much room.

Killian hadn't moved. Emma sighed, looking at the back cushion at the far end of the sofa that could be somewhat comfortable if she placed it on the floor. At least the top half of her body would be protected. Taking a step in the dark living room, she intended to use her stealth and grab for the unused pillow. Well, that was the plan until her foot tangled with the boots she had left on the rug before and her lack of balance landed her directly on top of Killian, her head at his chest.

"Emma?" he asked, blue eyes blinking and his face scrunching up in confusion. "Is that…"

"Hi," she said a bit breathlessly, fighting the blanket to find her hands and not grab him inadvertently in her struggle to get back to standing. "Sorry…I mean, yeah, it's me."

She floundered a bit, making him laugh as he curled his handless arm around her. "I would ask what happened, but I'm more interested in the result."

Her hair had fallen across her face and he used his hand to brush it back in a move that she had to admit seemed just as thoughtful as his earlier ones. She grunted and managed to push up on both her hands that were straddling his torso. "Yeah, so Henry is a bed hog and I thought I'd sleep in the chair, but your cat is there and I'm not good with animals that don't know me so I sort of thought…anyway, I tried to grab this pillow to sleep on the floor and well…"

"I see," he said as if he understood that whole rambled sentence. Without dislodging her, he scooted up and to the side on the couch and gestured at it with his chin. "There's room. I mean if you'd rather I sleep on the floor, I suppose I could…"

"No," she said, louder than she meant. "I'll sleep here. I mean it's just…Thank you."

"I doubt you'll be thanking me when your muscles are all tight and knotted from this thing. It practically swallows you whole."

She managed to disentangle herself from his grasp and positioned herself next to him. This was a bit more than she had planned. "I feel like I'm in the middle of a really bad romantic comedy. One that I think Mary Margaret is directing."

"I do like to give credit where it is due, but it is a bit farfetched to think she is responsible for this little act of clumsiness, Swan." He let his lips linger on her forehead. "Are you okay with this? I

am…I'm perfectly fine to sleep on the floor."

"I think that's what makes this okay," she told him, yawning. "If you weren't then I'd think that you were up to something like seducing me, but you're being almost a gentleman about the whole thing."

He scoffed at that, feigning a disgruntled sort of snort. "I am always a gentleman," he protested.

"I assure you that if I wanted to seduce you, I would do so in a more appropriate location than this."

She closed her eyes, her long lashes fanning out across the highest point of her cheeks.

"Right," she said, shifting her weight a little. "And that's why your hand is on my hip?"

"Sorry," he mumbled. "Do you wish for me to move it?"

"I didn't say that," she responded, placing her own hand on the side of his face and letting her thumb trace an arc pattern. "I don't mind it there."

"Good."

"Seriously? You're just going to say good?"

"You're complaining that I'm not verbose enough at 3 a.m.?" His hand traveled up her back and then down again. Her shirt may have risen with the movements.

"I'm just saying that when I have to do the post mortem debriefing on this with Mary Margaret, you're going to come off a little weak." She stretched up and kissed him hard and quick. She didn't do this sort of thing normally. Her intimate moments with men were usually reduced to less talking and certainly no cuddling.

"You're planning to gossip about me?" he asked, his voice clearly groggy, but she could feel his smile against her skin. "I at least hope that I would come off good in this. Perhaps enhance my reputation."

"No, I won't be gossiping. She'll ask though. I think I'll keep what I think to myself for now. Good night, Killian."

"Good night, love."

***AAA***

His phone's ringtone was a police siren for work calls (a foghorn for personal ones). Emma thought it was cute until the thing blared just inches from her ear. Whining, she attempted to burrow herself into her blanket only to find the solidness of him holding her to be the better source of warmth. Her eyes flashed open as he rolled them about 45 degrees to reach the phone. "Jones here," he said groggily. "Yeah, I'll check the message and meet you in 5."

Her eyes did not want to open, especially when the only light she could see was the glow from his phone. "Too early," she muttered against his shirt."

"Aye, but David is a boy scout and I must do my best or something like that."

"That was David?" she asked, waking up a bit more to understand. She craned her head back.

"Apparently just arriving in the parking lot downstairs. Mary Margaret's with him to drive you and lad home to the farm." He was studying the phone's screen. "Seems there was a break in last night at that abandoned fish market that requires our attention." He tossed the phone aside. "I was going to make you breakfast, but…"

"But duty calls." She propped herself up and ran a hand through her hair. "I better get back in the bedroom. I really don't want Mary Margaret to see…"

"Aye, I should get dressed. You know, if you like breakfast I could make it for you sometime." He smiled and then looked down with a shyness that wasn't really something she had seen from him. "That wasn't meant as a way to get you back here for the night. I could cook it anytime. I mean it doesn't have to be…"

"I don't know if...Look I realize that we..." She moved her hand in front of her like that explained it all. "Maybe you'd like to have dinner again. Just me and you."

He moved to a sitting position. The ends of his hair were sticking up in a variety of directions.

He'd had one night stands before, had dived head first into a hot night of virtually anonymous sex. But as he stared into her seductively controlled face, he saw something else there. A kind of hardness, an edge that he understood and related to. He could also sense another side of Emma Swan that he was very much afraid she was slowly, and deliberately, doing things to in order to destroy. It was there in her eyes, the little lost girl that she'd denied so vehemently was there. She sounded insecure and almost as if she couldn't believe he would want to spend more time with her. "Are you asking me out, Swan?"

She shoved his boots in his direction. "Asking you out, inviting myself over. I mean, we don't have any wedding plans for tonight, right?" She exhaled sharply. "If you don't want to see me, I completely understand I just…"

"Dinner, tonight," he punctuated that statement with a kiss. "And I doubt you truly believe I don't want to see you."

She nodded, wrapping the blanket back around her and trying her hardest to look somewhat alluring as she stood and realized one leg of her borrowed sleep pants had crawled much higher than the other. "Good." She wasn't going to doubt herself, she thought as she disappeared into his room to dig out her clothes and do something about the smile and blush on her face before Mary Margaret totally knew what was going on.

***AAA***

"You do realize your wedding is in December? In Maine? You realize that, right?" Emma asked as she and Mary Margaret pulled up outside of the ice cream shop. "You're seriously thinking to serve ice cream to all 5,000 of your guests when there is a chance of a foot of snow falling during the ceremony?"

"Not 5,000." The teacher looped her scarf over her shoulder and pulled the wool beret down on her hair. "You like ice cream."

"On sunny days. When it's like 85. And I'm at the beach." Emma complained, vacating the car and wondering why she didn't make friends who lived in warmer climates. Henry had begged off the tasting trip, even if it meant giving up free food, as it was one of several stops they were making that included flowers, shoes, and a trip to see about paperwork to change Mary Margaret's name on her driver's license and social security card after the wedding. He and Ruth were at the library visiting with Belle and looking for books for him to read that were not the graphic novel variety. Emma would be surprised if he settled on one.

"Come on, I'll even get you a scoop of rocky road."

As predicted the shop was devoid of customers, allowing Mary Margaret to commandeer them a table for two right by the window. The woman who owned the place was a willowy blonde with a soft melodic voice that was almost hypnotizing. She presented the two women with a variety of flavors in tiny tasting cups. There were the typical chocolate, rocky road, vanilla, strawberry, and others. But there were also outlandish flavors that seemed like they didn't really have a chance.

"The apple pie flavor is one of my biggest sellers," Ingrid breathed, gesturing with her hand to the cup near the center of the board. "I use notes of nutmeg and cinnamon that really bring it out."

Mary Margaret, ever the polite and optimistic teacher made a sour face and skipped over the suggestion as she tried the next one that was coconut flavored. The shop owner looked slightly offended as Emma giggled. "Mary Margaret's not really a fan of apples," Emma explained before closing her mouth around a tasting spoon.

Ingrid seemed flustered as she removed the offending flavor and hurried to find a replacement.

"We should take some of the rocky road home," Mary Margaret said, already blocking out the suggestion from before. "Henry will love it. And then you, me, David, and Ruth can watch a movie with him. What do you think? A night in with family?"

Emma felt the brain freeze grip her, making her grab her head as she grimaced. "Yeah," she ground out. "So about tonight…"

"Drink some of the water. It'll help." Mary Margaret passed her the plastic glass of water with a straw and tutted compassionately. "Maybe if you hold your nose and...Oh wait that's for popping ears."

"It'll be fine in a minute," Emma said, blinking rapidly as another wave of the pain seized her. She slapped her hand against the metal table as if that might help. "I should have known better."

"Should I get Ingrid?" Mary Margaret asked, standing up and staring hopelessly around. The willowy woman had disappeared behind the door to the refrigerated room that clearly stated employees only.

Emma's nose wrinkled and her eyes slammed shut as she silently prayed for a reprieve. As it eased, she saw that Ingrid had returned and placed a new glass of tepid water in front of her and Mary Margaret was worrying her lip with concern. "I'm fine," she insisted, taking a drink of the water. "I'm sure Ingrid must see this all the time."

"Everyday," the woman said. "Did you make a decision or…"

"I want to go with the vanilla and basil," Mary Margaret ordered politely. "And maybe the caramel chocolate as the second choice." She also ordered a quart of rocky road for this movie night that she was planning.

As the women bundled up for the outdoors again, Emma yanked the door open for her friend and then cleared her throat. "So yeah," she said, looking down and not at the green expectant eyes of her friend who would not be calm at Emma's announcement. "I'm not going to be at the farm tonight. I mean, if that's okay and you and David will watch Henry. If you can't, that's fine. I just thought…"

Mary Margaret's camel colored coat and white beret and scarf were perfect complements to her ivory colored skin and dark hair. Her eyes looked exceptionally big as the scarf crept up her face and nearly covered her. "Don't worry about Henry, we'll totally babysit. But can I ask…"

"Mary Margaret," Emma said warningly, placing the insulated bag with the ice cream into backseat of her friend's SUV and jumping into the passenger seat. The teacher was quick too, already in place behind the steering wheel by the time Emma was buckling her seatbelt.

"I am not going to do whatever it is you think. Just tell me. Where are you going? And is it with someone?" Even wearing the thick coat and with her hands covered by matching gloves, the brunette was bouncing in her seat. No matter what she said, Emma knew that her friend was totally going to freak out in a good way.

"So I'm doing something with," Emma began, pulling at her own scarf. "I'm doing something tonight with Killian. And again, don't freak out on me or whatever. And if it's not okay for you to watch Henry, that's cool. I can cancel. I should cancel. I mean I just had to spend the night at the guy's apartment because...Oh wait that was totally your fault and David's fault."

Not hiding her grin as she threw the SUV in reverse, Mary Margaret pointed them in the direction of the library. "Oh I'm babysitting Henry tonight. There is no cancelling on this date."

"It's not…"

"Semantics," the teacher said, brushing off the inevitable discussion of whether or not it constituted an actual date. "Deal done on the babysitting. So let's talk wardrobe. What are you wearing? Is it a casual thing or some romantic restaurant? Or maybe he'll cook for you. He's actually a really good cook."

"I don't exactly know," Emma admitted, her eyes focused on her black gloves as they made their way through the light traffic. "Maybe I should be the one planning. I sort of am the one who asked him out." She cringed as the squeal she knew was about to come from her friend reverberated in the vehicle. "I shouldn't have told you that."

"No, no, I'm glad you did. I am just excited. Didn't I tell you…" She stopped and pursed her lips. "Sorry. I know you don't like I told you so. I'm just excited because he's a nice guy and you're pretty awesome even if you don't really like people to see that part of you."

"I appreciate your belief that this is a good thing, but I'm really thinking it's a mistake. I should have...I don't know. I don't even have his phone number. How do I go on a date with a guy, if that's what we're calling it, if I don't even have his number?"

Mary Margaret rolled her eyes, turning her car into the parking spot three spaces away from the library. "Easily taken care of, Emma. I have his number. I'll give it to you. Next?"

"What do you mean next?" Emma asked, her hand already on the door handle to bail out to get Ruth and Henry.

"Emma, I love you. But you are the queen of reasons and excuses, especially when it comes to dating and relationships. Your walls that we all talk about? The bricks that make up those walls are all decorated with reasons and excuses. You can't date him because he likes the Giants. You can't date this guy because he went to boarding school. You can't date that guy because he suggested seeing a movie with an actor you hate. You didn't like that one guy because he didn't wear socks with his shoes."

"That guy was gross. It was like he was channeling 1980s Miami Vice. And let's be real here, no socks and a sweating problem can be a little too pungent."

"True," Mary Margaret said, leaning forward to look and see if the two were coming out of the building yet. "But you do realize you always have reasons. Those walls are keeping things out that you should be embracing. And the no phone number thing can't be the only one here. So shoot. I'll figure out why you should keep the date."

Emma threw her head back against the neck rest. "Killian at least wears socks. He had ones with anchors on them last night." The eyes staring at her were dancing. "And yes, they were kind of adorable."

***AAA***

Henry was seated at the kitchen table as she made her way downstairs wearing what Mary Margaret had declared the perfect maybe a date or maybe just hanging out outfit. Normally Emma wore darker colors, solids that let her blend into crowds when she was working. Her wardrobe was built more on function rather than fashion. And despite offers to help her pick something out or even loan her something, Mary Margaret had backed off her friend and offered supportive critiques of the few selections available in the suitcase.

"A skirt is good," she had said, sitting on the bed between the suitcase and five nearly identical pairs of jeans. "It says I'm making an effort but I'm not going full force." Emma cut her a look in the mirror. "What? I said it was good."

"You have another suggestion?"

"Well, I just think that maybe something more traditional would be better for a date with Killian. He's a bit old fashioned, you know."

Emma lifted the hem of her sweater between two fingers and regarded the fabric. "So you think a ball gown?"

"No, but I might have something. Please don't look at me that way. It's a dress. But it doesn't have flowers."

It was a compromise, a blue and black plaid shirt dress over black leggings. Mary Margaret had wanted her to wear kittenish heels while Emma preferred boots, but the women had settled on a pair of ballet flats that were at least comfortable. Her eyes were scoping out the scene to make sure that Mary Margaret was not lurking some place with a camera.

"Mom," Henry said, looking up from the screen of his handheld video game. "You look great."

She smiled, kissing the top of his head before looking over toward David. The sheriff was ladling batter onto a griddle as he hummed along with the radio that was playing oldies. He swore his mother appreciated the music more than today's pop songs. "Pancakes?"

"We're having breakfast for dinner," Henry said, returning his attention to the game.

"I have a philosophy about pancakes," David announced, winking before he inspected the blobs that were currently browning in front of him. "I even have a secret ingredient."

"Impressive," Emma responded. "And here I thought that was just for people working in diners." She moved past the dirty dishes that Mary Margaret would probably kill him over soon and peered into the bowl. "Chocolate chips?"

"Nutmeg," he said with exasperation. "How do you not know this? Mom had us making pancakes every weekend."

"I made orange juice. Or more like poured the orange juice." She rolled her eyes as he stared at her all aghast. "What? I didn't cook then and I pretty much fake and bake now. I do frozen waffles and english muffins. I don't even own a mixer."

"She's good with eggs," Henry defended.

"Thanks, kid. See, I'm good with eggs, but nobody wants me making pancakes." The tall stack of already made pancakes caught her eye. "I realize you have Henry, Mary Margaret, and Ruth to feed, but do you honestly need that many?"

"Henry's a growing boy and we all need our energy for the wedding stuff left to do," David told her, waving her over with a spatula. "Come on. I'd be missing out on my brotherly duty if I didn't teach you."

Emma shook her head. "Killian will be here in a minute," she said, shaking her head again. "I'll just stick with frozen waffles or trips to Granny's."

Undeterred, David gave her his lesson that included using a boxed mix and adding in a few other ingredients. Nutmeg, he repeated, was the best of those. "You can't go wrong with nutmeg," he said as the doorbell rang.

"I've got it," Mary Margaret called, followed by quick, short footsteps overhead toward the stairs. SHe was clearly on a mission.

"I can answer the door," Emma told her, as she quickly intercepted the exchange. He stood there looking casually comfortable in a pair of well worn jeans and a dark patterned shirt under a vest that seemed to dress up the look. The leather of his jacket was soft and bore no signs of being new and stiff. His smile was not forced, curling up at the edges after a soft gasp where she wondered if he might be about to say something.

Their exchange at the door was brief and punctuated by Mary Margaret's sighs and David's instructions to keep an eye on the weather for the impending storm that should dump a large amount of snow that night. "I could help you put the snow chains on your tires," David volunteered only to earn a roll of the eyes from Emma and a nudge in the ribs from Mary Margaret.

"Emma couldn't be in better hands, mate," Killian said. "And I even have my phone on in case of any public safety emergencies."

"David will be handling those," Mary Margaret said, smoothly stepping forward to take the rose out of Emma's hand. "I'll be putting this in water for you."

"Let me know if you need me," David called after them. "My truck has four-wheel drive!"

They didn't respond to him, Killian giving a quick nod and hello to Henry and Emma looking exasperated as her son seemed to follow the lead of the engaged couple to call out that she had no curfew.

Killian opened the door to his car for her. "I would very much like to kiss you right now, but I fear our friends might be watching from the window for just such a moment."

"Good call." She blushed and slid into the seat as he secured the door and hurried around to join her. Once he was driving away from the farm, she held her hands out in front of the heat vents and turned to face him. "So any clues where we are going?"

"You'll see."

***AAA***

It wasn't a trendy restaurant or a club where they could dance to too loud music. Instead, he took her to his boat and somewhat sheepishly and humbly welcomed her aboard. "I know you seem to have some prejudice against those of us who own such modes of transportation, Swan." He kicked at a frayed end of rope that had come uncoiled. "But I assure you that I am not like whatever you assume."

She had her hands buried deep in the pockets of the wool coat that she was totally going to have to pay to have dry cleaned for Mary Margaret after borrowing it so often. She looked up at the rigging, stars shining in between clouds that were building overhead. "I'm not prejudiced about boat owners. I just have found most guys who own boats are snobby and not exactly smart."

He raised an eyebrow and cocked his head to the left. "I believe that your assumptions there are a bit prejudicial, love."

She made a face. "Yeah, you're right. That does kind of sound like a textbook definition. For the record,I don't mean you. You are not snobby and definitely not dumb." She dragged one hand out, still cold despite the leather gloves. "Show me around?"

"Gladly," he said, reaching out to grab her proffered hand. "Not much to tour, but there is one thing we need to do first."

"One thing? Oh? Do I need a life jacket or something? Are you one of those safety first guys?"

"I do take safety seriously, but no. We aren't actually taking her out now that I have her safe and docked for the winter. I only meant that I had not been free to kiss you when I picked you up. I was hoping." He grinned, the wind off the water lifting up his hair in tiny tufts while it wreaked havoc with her longer waves of golden hair that were thankfully pulled back in a ponytail.

Taking a surefooted step toward him, she smiled in return and met his lips with her own. She wasn't sure that she could define why she was there if someone were to ask, not comfortable having broken her own rules. His lips were warm, she realized as they moved against hers, the scratchiness of his scruff tickling her skin. Still palm to palm with his hand, she used to her other to touch his chest, then shoulder and then found her fingers carding through his inky black hair.

"I thought the kiss came at the end of the date," she said as he pulled back a fraction of an inch."

"I assumed you were not one to play by the rules all the time, Swan."

Eventually his tour of the boat took her to the small galley and sitting area that he had already been working in earlier. Insulated containers held food from a restaurant that he loved and even a bottle of wine was chilling in wait for them.

"Impressive," she said when she noticed the proud sort of grin on his face. "You actually planned this."

"When you asked, I was a bit shocked," he admitted, making sure she was seated before he began to unpack. "I wasn't sure that I would be given such a chance."

"I am still not sure what we're doing here. I mean I know we're having dinner."

"Very astute observation," he teased, scooping out some of the rice for her. "But I don't know that we need to name it if the idea of a date with me is so bothersome. By my count this isn't the first, but whatever you wish to call it is fine by me."

The food was delicious, giant prawns and spicy, sweet sauces to choose from. Grilled veggies were mixed with wild rice and delicate spring rolls practically melted in her mouth. While she was still having some doubts in herself that dating a man who lived a few states away and was employed with her pseudo brother was probably a bad idea, Emma had to admit the conversation over wine and yummy food was better than any date she had had recently. He asked her questions, not nosey ones, but ones that showed an interest in her. He didn't even feign his attention to her answers, bringing up things she said later in the conversation.

"Are you too cold?" he asked when she had more than enough to eat and sort of curled into herself on the bench seat. "I could see about pumping a bit more heat into here. Or I could get you a blanket." He was already making the move to stand and see to her comfort.

"No, I'm fine, Killian, really. I'm just full and feeling very lazy at the moment. I'm not sure if this is a good sign or not. I don't usually eat so much on a date."

"We're back to calling it a date, are we?" he asked, relaxing next to her and propping his head up on a bent arm as he stared in her direction. "I have some dessert planned too."

Her eyes were half closed as she shook her head. "Not now, okay? I need to digest this first."

"Of course. Perhaps you would like to go back on deck. I thought I might show you a few of the sights. While I know you've lived here in Storybrooke, I have a distinct feeling it has been a few years since you truly appreciated the beauty."

"More than a few," she said softly, letting him pull her up to standing before kissing his cheek. He turned a light shade of pink as he halfway ducked his head and she wondered if he truly did not expect affection in return or if he was simply not used to it. He seemed so confident and almost cocky that she was sure he knew just how handsome he was to her and anyone else with eyes. Yet he didn't seem to expect her to compliment him or touch him at all. "Show me more, captain."

"Captain?" he queried as he grabbed a throw off the back of the bench and wrapped it about her shoulders for extra warmth. As soon as it was over her, he grabbed her hand again.

"Well, this is your boat, isn't it? And don't they call the head of a boat the captain?" Her grin melted to confusion when he burst out into laughter. She was almost insulted, but wanted to know why such a thing had amused him.

"I'm sorry, love," he said, squeezing her hand reassuringly. "You just made a bit of a slip of the tongue there and didn't realize it."

"What did I say?" she asked, pulling back on his hand to encourage him to stay put. "What?"

"The head of a boat or a ship love, is what you lovely Americans would call a restroom or toilet."

***AAA***

Killian Jones was an amazing kisser, Emma decided as they stood on deck and found themselves twisted together in the blanket he had procured earlier. Just a few constellations into his showing off his astronomical knowledge, the first snow flakes had fallen and given him a look that bordered on magical and old man as the white fluff stood out against his dark hair. She had giggled (she couldn't remember the last time that sound escaped her) at his eyes dancing with excitement over the first few flakes. But it was his attempt to catch them on his prosthetic hand, as it was not as warm as his body temperature, that had made her snuggle in tighter and start what was clearly becoming less of a single kiss and more of a make out session.

The hum at the back of his throat was almost hypnotic, she thought as her tongue met his. Warm and soft, his lips made her nerves stand on end as his hand made gentle swipes up and down her back and eventually moved under her now open coat to trail up from her waist toward her breasts. He tasted of the wine from earlier and she sucked eagerly at him, rewarded by another moan from him that seemed to vibrate against her in their tight embrace.

They broke apart for air. "I should get you home to your boy," he said, sounding slightly out of breath and looking for all the world like he hated to say that.

"He's probably asleep by now," she said, her fingers dragging across his jaw and then over those same lips that had been against hers. "He's a heavy sleeper."

"I seem to recall you referring to him as a bed hog," he said with a chuckle. "Was that just last night?"

"Yeah," she said with a nod, falling back onto her heels. "Probably too soon for me to ask if you have a bed on this boat, right?"

"Perhaps," he agreed, dropping his head toward her neck. His breath and kisses against her long neck were even warmer and she lifted her blanket covered arms to his shoulders to envelop him as he made long slow passes at her neck. "But for the record there is a bed."

"I could…" The rest of her thought was lost in a moan as his mouth moved with more intensity than she expected. Her eyes fell shut, as she tried to remember her objections to being with him. There were some, right? She had been so adamant before. "I could text them and say I won't be…"

"They'll know that you're with me," he said, hesitating just below her ear. "Are you okay with that? Mary Margaret may gloat for the next bit."

"You think she's not doing that already?" Emma asked, shifting in his arms enough that he pulled back to look at her. "Whatever is going on between us in her imagination is probably more than what's actually happening." She grimaced. "And that totally made it sound like she was some pervert. I only meant she is very proud of herself that we are together tonight without her meddling."

"She'll be insufferable," he agreed. "But I would rather her not factor into the decision of you staying. I only meant that your concerns earlier that this was a small town and people talk…"

She swatted her hand at his chest and groaned. "You would have to be practical right now, wouldn't you? I mean I was kind of a sure thing there and you got all practical and concerned about my reputation, which isn't exactly stellar by the way."

His eyes were nearly black with desire as his face hovered near hers. "Can I have a redo?" he asked softly. "I had no intention of talking you out of anything, but especially this." Nipping quickly at her lips, he raised his eyebrows after parting. "The weather looks risky, love. Perhaps you should call and say that it would be prudent to stay here."

She could have teased him back, told him that they would think she had been kidnapped if she used words like prudent. Instead she reached in the deep pocket of the coat and pulled out the phone. "Hey David," she said, running the thumb of her freehand over Killian's lips. He followed by pressing his mouth to the pad of it. "So the roads aren't looking good. I think I'm going to hang out here and try it in the morning." She nodded her head though David couldn't possibly see. "No, no, don't wake him up. Just let him know if he wakes up and starts looking for me." Her grin was bigger when she spoke of Henry. "I'll see you in the morning. I promise. I'll be careful." Dropping her phone back into her pocket, she placed both hands on his face, cupping either side, she lifted onto the balls of her feet and kissed him. She ignored the schmaltzy thoughts in her mind as snow feathered down on them as they kissed.

"You're cold," he said a moment or two after they parted.

"Your nose is cold," she challenged back. "Maybe we should go...what's the term...down under? You know to get warm."

"We're only heading to the cabin, not Australia, darling," he laughed, pulling her with him as he descended the nearly vertical ladder to the room below. It was somewhat warmer there, especially when he closed the hatch and performed a few tasks to the dials on the wall.

She was standing in one of the few open spaces in the cramped quarters, between the two burner stove and the foldaway table with bench seating. Her eyes were darting to and fro with curiosity that she was trying to mask by not turning her head. He couldn't help but smile at the wide eyed look that made her look slightly wild with her wind tossed hair.

"Killian," she said, her lips thin as she pressed them together tightly. "I...I hate to say this. I'm not really that big on have to talk moments. I'm more…"

He tilted his head, offering an invitation and permission for her to continue. When she didn't, he crossed the maybe 30 inches to her, gripping her hand a bit tighter than he meant to do. "I have a feeling that you think we should talk. And like you, I dread the very idea. Emma, I...I don't want you to feel like I am expecting anything here. You've made your feelings on the subject of us very clear. I don't wish to pressure you or make you feel like I am expecting anything more than you are willing to share."

Scoffing, she turned her eyes toward their hands, studying the way they fit together. "I'm not so sure I've been clear. I mean I've told you that I wasn't interested. Fought the idea pretty hard. And then I end up kissing you, sleeping beside you last night, and now I'm here, alone with you, and telling my son and everyone that I won't be heading back to the farm tonight. Obviously I'm kind of sucking at the whole pushing you away thing. And just so we're clear, I'm good at pushing people away."

"You wish to push me away still?" he asked, his knees buckling slightly to catch her eye. "Because that isn't…"

"No, I just don't know what I'm supposed to do with all this," she admitted. "I do like you, Killian. And if you were in Boston that would be one thing. Or maybe it wouldn't. Maybe I'd have a drink and then fall into bed with you and give you a fake number when you asked. But what is this? I don't mean this in a high school girl kind of way where I want a definition and a label. I mean this in a I don't know what happens next. Mary Margaret and David will be married soon. The wedding will be over. Henry and I will go home. And despite my history or pretending like I don't remember a guy after a date, I'm not so sure here…"

"I am afraid I don't have the answer to that. If you would permit me, I would very much like to see more of you, even after you leave. It's not that far of drive and I do have some excellent benefits like paid time off from my job."

"This," she said, blinking her eyes up to his. "This is why I didn't want to do this. Killian, as of yesterday I was fighting hard to not fall for you or feel anything for you. And now we…"

"I wasn't talking of moving in or anything of the kind," he assured her, his voice soft and melodic. "I only meant that I would hope that we might see each other beyond this. To let you know that I want that."

She shook her head. "How does that even look? Because you know that's not going to work. You have your job, your brother, your cat, your life here. You don't need to be spending weekends with one eye on the clock. Because I know how that ends, Killian. You'll get tired of the drive. I'll get tired of playing host. Henry'll get sick or I'll have a work thing. And we'll make promises that we'll try again next week. Then that becomes next month. And someday I'll come up here to visit David and Mary Margaret and they'll introduce me to your wife and it'll be all kinds of awkward."

He didn't release her hand, stroking his thumb gently over her skin. "Do I get to defend myself because you just married me off to some lass and have us awkwardly pretending that I won't be thinking of you?" He leaned in to gently brush his lips against hers. "Because I'll be thinking of you, Emma. I have thought about you since that wonderful dinner we had when you arrived and had no idea that Mary Margaret or David might be so bold as to set that up. I've been thinking about you since you shared that pastry with me and told me you wanted me to fake an interest in you but I knew what I was feeling wasn't fake. And I have thought about you when I watched you shoot daggers at Mary Margaret for inviting me to dinner and since you danced with me at that bloody pub. And I certainly have thought about you since I woke up this morning with you sleeping against my chest and wondered just what or who had made you think that you aren't worth everything a man could give to be in your life." He sighed. "I don't own a bloody crystal ball. I can't predict the future, Emma. But I assure you that I want to know you. If you choose that to be as a friend or simply as two people who complain about traffic, horrible jobs, or the lack of good programming on television, I would accept it."

"Killian, I don't know what…" She stopped herself. She knew what she wanted. She just didn't know if she could manage to not screw it up. "I have thought about you too."

"Have you now?" he asked, the swagger and flirt back. His thick eyebrows raised in challenge and his lips seemed to redden as he pursed and then licked them with the tip of tongue. "Tell me?"

"I don't want to feed that ego," she said, rising up on her toes and kissing his cheek. "But I'm not sure I should tell you what I'm thinking now. I mean if I didn't kill the mood sounding like a co-dependant clingy mess before..."

"You've killed nothing. What are you thinking now, love?"

She smiled before nipping her lips along his jaw along one side and the the other. "That I'd very much like to continue our reason for coming down here and forget any awkward and strange conversations."

"I have no objections to that, love." He moaned as she gripped the front of his shirt tightly and pulled his mouth down onto hers. Mouths fused and tongues exploring, he spun her around toward the bed she had asked about earlier. While he wasn't necessarily seeking a quick release, he was not all that sure his legs would hold him up if she wanted to continue.

Hands groped, searched, and sought out the other. Soft sighs and whispers crossed the air between breathless kisses and pieces of clothing like her leggings and his vest scattered. There was a hurry to their movement that spoke of need and desire as she fumbled with the buttons of his shirt and he bunched the fabric of her dress against his palm.

His name was said more huskily than she meant it sound, as his stubble scratched her skin and his mouth trailed down her neck. He didn't seem to respond to her query until she placed both palms at his shoulder and pushed back a bit. "So I asked earlier," she said, raking her teeth over her lip. "I asked if I needed a life jacket. You know the whole safety talk. And i was just thinking that maybe we should have that talk…"

"Gladly," he said, smirking at her blown pupils darting around his face for any sign that he had understood. "I'm sure I have…"

She backed away from him and through the barely hanging door that separated the living and sleeping areas of the sailboat. Throwing a glance over her shoulder, she saw the bed that took up the majority of the space with built in tables on either side. It was a dark space, the lights not on and the comforter a navy color that reminded her of the night sky above. She felt the back of her knees hit the pillowy softness and she sat, looking at him expectantly.

"Brilliant sense of direction love," he said, the smirk on his face not fading as he circled round to the table to her left and turned on a light. "The next door over is an equipment room. Far less comfortable."

"I assumed you would save me if I went the wrong way," she said with a shrug as she watched him dig through the drawer's contents of a worn paperback, a pair of glasses, some brochures from other coastal towns, and finally a box of condoms. "Not to stroke that ego, but I haven't found you to be wrong yet."

"You might wish to reserve your kind assessment of me, love," he said, his face flushed. "I might have miscommunicated my readiness."

She leaned back onto her elbows and stared as he tossed the empty paper box onto the bed. "Empty? Where'd they go?"

"Given that I have not entertained a lass on this boat in more time than I care to admit and far longer than I have actually had that box, I'm not exactly interested in considering who might have used them." He flopped down next to her, scrubbing his hand over his face. "Especially since the only one with access would be my brother."

She let out a little laugh. "Then let's change the topic. I am…"

"I'm not going to presume to put you at some sort of risk, love. I have a bit more control than that." She was hovering over him, the ponytail that held her hair was starting to fall and the lipstick she had worn was no longer even a color. He lifted his hand and tucked a bit of the hair behind her ear. "I should have thought ahead."

"I'm pretty sure you're not usually thinking about your brother going through your supply of condoms." She leaned into his hand and the way his fingers were like feathers against her skin. "It's still snowing."

"Aye."

"And I doubt we would find anything open this late." She was propped up on one arm and the other hand trailed down the barely buttoned shirt she had tried to remove earlier. "So then it's a good thing that…"

"The fact that the nearest pharmacy is probably shuttered tight is a good thing?" he asked, his eyes following her hand as he fingers trailed and eventually ghosted over the bulge in his jeans. He took a sharp intake of breath.

"No," she said, her hand applying a bit more pressure. "It's a good thing I'm on the pill." She waited for him to respond, trying not to appear too amused by his moment of confusion.

With all the blood in his body headed south, he clearly didn't hear her at first. It took a moment before he blinked rapidly at her smirk. "You could have said something sooner, love."

"Maybe, but that would have taken the fun out of you looking so proud that you were prepared," she said softly. "Or how flattered I am that you were so disappointed."

He grunted in aggravation, sitting up and pulling her over straddle his lap. "I was quite disappointed, but I think what I have planned is more fun than watching me sulk."

She balanced herself with her left arm on his shoulder and used her right to push his now unbuttoned shirt off his shoulder. "Show me," she challenged. Her fingers trailed down the column of his neck as their eyes searched each others for a moment.

Not bothering to mask his appreciation for her, he leered hungrily at her and let his hand explore more along her legs. She rocked slightly against him, earning an equally as hungry sound from him in return. While still covered by the satin and lace of her bra and part of the fabric of her dress that was nearly unbuttoned, her breasts were clearly earning attention from Killian. His hand grazed over the fabric with deliberate slowness that made her wonder if he was going to drag out her pleasure in a similar tempo.

She felt her head turn toward him, accepting his trailing kisses and scraping stubble as he rubbed against her neck.

When she felt his hand ease up her thigh, she nearly jumped; but Killian had her snug against his body. There was barely enough room to breath, let alone squirm.

He skimmed his hand further up, lost in the satin of her skin. He almost lost it then; he came dangerously close to simply tossing her down on the bed and taking her, damn need and desire to draw out her pleasure and make her understand that this wasn't simply just a moment for them.

But she sighed in his ear, the sound a kind of amazed purr, and he wanted nothing more than to hear her scream his name.

His hand worked it's way higher, shoving the soft material of her dress up and away from his ascent. When he found the tender skin where her leg met her torso, he scraped his fingernail up, feeling her skin quiver as he did. Teasingly, he scraped back down, gently working his way under her slick panties as he did.

She thought she just might pass out from the anticipation he was creating. Her heart was speeding like a scared rabbit, her mouth was cotton dry, her body was oozing with small beads of sweat. She felt his fingers ease under the elastic of her underwear and tried to inch around, wanting desperately for his hand to touch her. Then he was there, his fingers curling, teasing her unmercilessly, rubbing then petting as she began to quietly pant.

Killian couldn't believe the heat of her. She was like an oven, her warmth close to scalding against his palm.

She squirmed closer, her body silently begging for his invasion. He finally gave into her, easily sinking his finger inside her body, reveling in the wetness he found there. She'd been more than ready for him, he nipped long and hard on her ear.

Emma rocked her hips down and up, meeting his slow thrusts as he worked her blood to a mercury quick level. She felt her own slickness, felt her breasts begin to swell against the binding of her bra and her nipples harden to painful points. He began working her quicker, his movements a step faster than before.

The look on her face, the feel of her around his fingers, it, it was almost too much. Quickly, he slipped another finger inside of her, moaning quietly when she gasped in passion.

"Oh, God, Killian," she croaked quietly. "Oh, God, please, please."

Running her palms up his muscled torso, she massaged his body with sensual circles, punctuating the gentle ministrations with rasping scrapes of her nails.

Killian sucked his breath in when she began, and quickly became dizzy, forgetting to exhale. God, the things this woman could make his body do should be illegal. He gasped when she clawed him, then softly smoothed the marks away with her fingertips. He had absolutely no idea his back could be one big erogenous zone. Her hips were still rocking against his, chasing his hand and her pleasure with mindless rhythm.

He could feel her tense as he added the third finger, her eyes rolling to the back of her head as her hips began to rock even harder into his hand. Killian felt her body bow, heard her growls and purrs become shouts as she orgasmed. He held her, felt her as she slammed into her climax.

She was boneless against him, head tucked under his chin and her breathing sporadic as he finally removed the dress she was wearing and chucked it on what there was of a floor. He stroked at her skin with lazy precision that made her smile in her recovering state. Pulling back and with deliberate slowness, she pressed her palmost on either side of his muscled stomach and pushed him onto his back.

He wasn't naked yet, but the denim of his jeans had a distinct, high raise to them. She chuckled deep in her throat as she skimmed her hands over his belly and chest, pleased when his breathing intensified.

"I want to give you what you gave me," she whispered huskily. "I want you to feel what I did; I want you to come for me."

Killian let out a noise somewhere between a chuckle and a groan.

"I'm all yours, love," he answered, praying silently for control. If he wasn't careful, this was going to end before it even really began.

She raised one arched eyebrow and smirked, then lowered her head, nipping down his jaw and throat.

Working her way slowly down, she began to kiss down his chest, trailing her lips down to his bellybutton. She hesitated a moment, then slinked her body back up, pressing her curves provocatively into him. She heard him let out a tortured sound and smiled to herself, enjoying the power she so obviously had over him.

With agonizing and measured movements, she licked one of his hard nipples, her tongue sharp against his skin. She was going to kill him, Killian decided; he was going to die before she was done, and he couldn't make himself care. A swift, white-hot bolt of lust speared him as she took his nipple in her mouth, sucking it then scraping it with her teeth.

Emma crawled over his body and gave the same attention to his other nipple, reveling in his growls and quick intakes of breath. Moaning with her own excitement, she let go of his chest and again laved her way down his chest and abs. This time there was no faltering.

She unfastened the silver button of his jeans and pushed all the fabric down and away, letting him kick the jeans and his boxers off onto the floor. She ran one hand down his bare thigh, his muscles bunching under her fingers. She circled his bellybutton with her tongue, then moved lower, her mouth swallowing him in one, long stroke.

Killian arched a foot off the bed, his fists bunching in the sheets beside him. She was hot and wet around his erection, her tongue torturous sandpaper over his sensitive skin. She held him in his mouth for a moment, humming in her throat when he gasped in shock and pleasure. Then she was lifting her head, the incredible feel of her wet lips and scorching mouth pulling up closer to the orgasm he'd denied himself.

She moved up slowly, then sank back down, his hard muscle pulsing inside her delicate orifice. Killian sucked in another breath, moving his hand from the bed to her thick hair, holding onto her as she created a tormenting rhythm. She felt her body quicken, her nipples hardening. She stroked him with her palm as she took him in and out of her mouth, quickening the pace as she sensed him reaching the edge.

Killian struggled for breath, his body tensing as she pushed him further, harder, than he could ever remember being. He was all nerve endings now, all sharp sensations and sweat covered heat. She took her mouth away long enough to whisper, "Come for me, Killian."

His body did her bidding, opening like a flood gate and releasing as he cried out harshly, her name a deep chant in his throat.

Emma waited until his body had stilled before easing herself up beside him, stroking his bare chest as his limbs shook with aftershocks. Smiling, she traced her fingertips up to his jaw and stroked his face, pleased to have put that look of letiletion on his features.

"I'm dead," he croaked out. "I couldn't have possibly survived that."

She chuckled softly, then leaned up to place a gentle kiss on his cheek. "No, I'm sorry to say you're still alive and well. Even though I take it as a compliment that you think you're in heaven."

Killian rolled over, curling her head under his chin. He was afraid she was going to leave, and right now he wasn't sure if he had the energy to chase her. So, he simply held her, absorbing her body's warmth into his.

A/N: There is still one more part to come...I know I promised pancakes in this part but it got a bit long winded. So next up is pancakes.


	5. Chapter 5

So one chapter left after this one...Rated M people for pancakes.

He was pretty sure that she was going to run, especially when the night before she had said as much when her eyes were floating shut. Her words, though sloppy with both sleep and a sated feeling of completion had said, "I really don't do this whole cuddle thing."

He'd even considered hiding his keys after she had fallen asleep because Emma Swan was not likely to do morning afters. Maybe that was why his arm had been thrown over her lazily and so had one leg, not quite pinning her down and not quite holding her to the state of suffocation. She had not seemed to mind it, the little purrs rumbling in her throat and her long lashes tickling against his skin as she fell into slumber rather than panic. He wasn't sure if it was the euphoria of an intimate moment with her or the soft way the little bit of light from the dock outside seemed to illuminate her golden mane of hair that made him feel as though his heart might actually burst.

When he finally fell asleep, her breathing steady and even for half an hour at least, he had thought to himself that he could not give up a chance to be with her. If he had to follow her to Boston, New York, New Orleans or a farm out in the midwest, he would gladly go in a heartbeat. Telling her that would scare her, no doubt, so he aimed to keep quiet and let her come to her own realizations as time passed.

His dreams were of her, as they had been in the few days. That was understandable given their close proximity. And as he awoke that morning he assumed that she might still be there in the circle of his arms. Perhaps she would be awake, staring at up at him with that twinkle in her eye that clearly wanted more. Or perhaps she would be sleeping against his chest, her features soft and muted as her hair fanned out. It was neither, he realized with a start as he sensed the cold sheets and saw the folding relic of a door pushed closed.

"Emma?" he asked, the sheets falling around his waist as he scrubbed his hand over his face and then through his hair.

He threw on his jeans as he cursed himself for not protecting his feet against the cold floors of the boat's cabin. He wouldn't have found them, as she was standing there in his somewhat functional kitchen over a two burner stove with a cast iron frying pan. The thin robe he kept next to the the boat's shower was wrapped around her, swallowing her whole in black fabric with the matching belt looped at least four times around her waist. It was large on him too, but on her it seemed massive and not so sloppy. With her hair in tangled waves down her back, he saw her as some sort of goddess wrapped in a toga or whatever the Greeks wore back then, coming down from a mountain to tempt him. His socks, the one that he was cursing that he couldn't find were drooping on her feet as she picked up the box of pancake mix and frowned at the directions.

"You're making breakfast?" he asked dumbly as he took all five steps it took to reach her and dig his fingers into her hip and run the tip of his nose up her neck to her ear. It didn't get past him that she shivered at his closeness and pressed herself into his embrace without turning around.

"Pancakes," she said, as if he hadn't noticed the two golden brown discs in the pan that she was nursing or the stack of completed ones next to it on a plate. She shakily replaced the open box on the butcher block counter next to a few items like a small carton of milk, a tiny jar of nutmeg, and another of cinnamon. He didn't mention it, but he was insanely happy that she had felt comfortable enough to rummage through his cabinets that his younger brother often complained were more organized than the most anal retentive of men.

"Something smells delicious," he said, his lips close to the shell of her ear. Both of them wore similar smiles and swayed in rhythm as as his blunted arm circled round her.

"It's just from a box," she said without turning to meet him, spatula fumbling to remove the latest additions to breakfast.

His mouth trailed a bit lower and his voice came out richer. "I'm not talking about the pancakes." Nose tracing along the side of her face, he loosened his hold on her as she let the spatula clatter to the counter and spun around a few degrees with her teeth digging into her bottom lip. The moment she was facing him, she crashed her mouth against his and stroked her hands over his shoulders, up his neck and across his jaw and then to a similar path down again. There was nothing diluting his smile as he chased after a second and then third kiss from her. In a lone minute of safe clarity, he reached around her to turn off the burner lest they damage the boat with an accidental fire.

There was a calmness to her grin as she pulled back to look at him that he was careful not to take for granted. "I would have cooked for you," he said softly. "It's the least I could…"

"I wanted to," she interrupted, hands splayed over his shoulders. "You provided dinner. I'm doing breakfast. It's sort of a give and take thing."

"I like it."

"Good," she said, rising up on the balls of her feet in the borrowed socks to kiss him again. Her hair hung over one shoulder and her faded makeup made her look quite young. The horns of other boats in the harbor sounded and the smattering of pans that hung over the stove clanged a bit as the waves pushed them to and fro.

He growled deeply, then lunged in to grab her, hauling her against him as he attacked her mouth. Emma returned the kiss bite for bite, mating her tongue with his in quick, savage twisting motions. He lifted her, pulling her long legs around his waist, and carried her the two steps to the only free counter space. In one fluid on, on, he deposited her on the cool wood, his mouth still attached to hers while his hand roamed.

He jerked the robe, hungry to touch and to feel her skin. With one of her breasts in his palm, the weight balanced there, he kneaded the soft flesh, letting go of her lips and scraped his teeth along her jaw. Her world was tilting, set on fire by the man who was driving her so wild. He lowered his head, taking one hard peaked nipple between his teeth, and her eyes rolled to the back of her head in pleasure. "To hell with the pancakes," she muttered.

He sucked and pulled on the dark skin, reveling in her gasps and hisses, moaning himself when she grasped his hair in a tight grip. His erection was straining against his zipper, a painful reminder that he didn't think he could linger. But there would be other times, he promised his lust hazed brain, and let go of her breast. He ran his hand down her ribs, over her hip and thigh, ridding her of his robe with frantic and almost clumsy movements, while he continued to rain kisses on her flesh.

Emma wanted to feel him inside of her, needed the fulfillment he had proved he could give. She was throbbing, her need a razors edge in her body and mind. When his fingers scraped up the inside of her thighs, her head dropped back in desire, the feel of his large, callused hand on her tender flesh an excruciating tease.

Killian followed the heat, pleased to find her soaked and burning, replacing the missing material with his hand. He slid on finger into her, testing her, pushing her, and found that his plan was backfiring. She was so hot around him, so slick against his palm, that he knew there would be no problem gliding inside of her.

"Oh, God, Emma, I have to have you," he whispered hoarsely. "Say it, say you want me."

"I want you, Killian, dear God, I want you. Now! Please, Killian, now!"

He moaned as she said his name in a husky voice, her pleas driving him mad. Quickly, he unzipped his pants, letting his erection spring free. He positioned himself between her creamy thighs and reached up to cup her face, determined to enjoy each inch he slid inside of her.

Killian watched her as he slid inside of her, agonizing inch by agonizing inch, filling her as he went. Finally, he was surrounded completely by her.

She let his name fall from her lips as he seated himself, her body quaking with the feel of it. She opened her eyes and found her gaze captured by his. The moment of their first joining somehow erotic and pure at the same time. Then the moment was broken by Killian when he leaned down quickly to devour her mouth. She melted away, her body merging with his as she gave back everything she got.

Killian moved inside of her, his body fluid as her wetness eased his way. He set a steady pace, his tongue pantomiming his thrusting. He heard her gasp, felt her tighten, and knew she was going to come. Her body suddenly bowed, her walls squeezing him tightly as she shook with her first orgasm. He damn near lost it, almost let go, but he pulled himself back from the edge. He wanted to give her another orgasm, wanted to watch her skin flush and her breasts swell with it. And, hell, it was ecstasy to be inside of her, something he didn't want to give up so easily.

He lifted her off the counter, wrapping her legs around his waist, and back up against the wall. She was riding him now while he supported her hips, moving and pushing as she directed. The glass rattled, the bottles clanked, and Emma slammed herself harder and harder against him, feeling him harden even more as he grimaced and fought back his own release. She was wild now, the feel of his hot erection rubbing against her soft insides, his movements sure and confident as he hit her g-spot over and over again, made her rabid with need.

She was pushing him, driving him to the edge, but he still waited. He wanted to come with her, wanted to have her tightening spastically around him. Then he heard her, the high whimpering of near completion, the husky undertone of desperation as she shoved them both to orgasm.

"Oh, Emma, oh, oh, my God! I'm going to…"

He couldn't stop himself; his body let go, spilling out in a hard bursts, and he felt her squeeze, her voice shattering loud as she came again, milking him as she did. He held onto her tightly, kept her lodged against him as her body arched and reached.

Finally, they both floated down, their breathing labored as the stared at each other. There were no words, nothing that could be said about the bond they'd just forged. It shouldn't have been there, they both thought, it just wasn't possible.

***AAA***

Killian dropped her off at the farm with an apologetic smile and a soft kiss just before lunchtime. Work was calling for him, something about a meeting with David and Regina that Emma wasn't sure she wanted to picture given the little marks along his neck that showed and were of her own doing. She felt very much like a wayward teenager as she took her run of shame up the steps in last night's clothes and prayed that Mary Margaret was not waiting to pounce.

She was lucky. The house was empty and a note from her hostess said that she was out with Henry and Ruth at the riding ring to show the 10 year old how to properly ride a horse. Emma sighed with relief as she bounded up the stairs and took a quick shower. They would probably be back soon, but Emma threw on jeans and oversized flannel shirt that would be appropriate for the day, feeling safer in her boots as she crunched the fresh snow under her feet. It had not gathered as much as the weather had predicted, only an inch or two on the frozen ground and hardly a hazard to anyone.

Having taken the time to boil water while she was in the shower, Emma tucked a thermos into the bag, along with a few travel mugs and darted across the field toward where Mary Margaret was sure to have taken Henry. She spotted Ruth first, the older woman sitting on what had at one point been benches for the parents of riding students Mary Margaret taught while in high school and college.

"How's he doing?" Emma asked, squinting in the direction of where her son was sitting tall on a horse named Buttercup. "I mean other than freezing."

"He's more of a natural than you were," Ruth said wryly, her hands protected by knitted mittens. "I seem to remember you were none to thrilled with the exercises that Mary Margaret put you through just to saddle up the poor beast."

"I thought that horse was going to kick me. David told me horror stories that I believed." Emma shook her head at the memory. "Henry's smarter than that. He's a good kid."

"He is and he deserves good things. And so were you, you know? You deserve good things too." Ruth patted Emma's knee. "I take it your date went well." Even though the illness that was making Ruth's memories become rarer and her words fumbled was still there, Ruth looked fondly at the blonde woman with a knowing smile.

"Are you sure you're not Mary Margaret's mom? Because you totally act like her sometimes."

"You know that when I met her, that first time David said he was dating her, she was nervous. She tried so hard to impress me. Made me dinner to show me how grown up and mature she was at the time. What were you girls? 15? 16? It was adorable. David gushed about that meal for months. I told her it was wonderful. But the truth? It was awful. She left the cooking twine on the roast and I got a mouthful of it. The potatoes were lumpy and half the peas were still frozen. But I smiled and chewed harder."

"She didn't notice?" Emma asked, stifling a grin as her son began to lean and was quickly corrected. "Wasn't she eating too?"

"I wasn't going to tell her," the woman said, shaking her salt and pepper hair from under her knitted cap. "She was nervous enough what with losing her mother so young and her father dying as he did. Regina wasn't much of a parental influence on her. Even when her parents were both still alive, her father worked all the time and she never really saw them together. She assumed that I would put her lack of a family against her." The older woman shivered and pulled her plaid coat closed as she stared back at the house. "She didn't realize I wasn't exactly an expert and assumed I would hold it all against her."

"You didn't though," Emma recalled.

"Just because you haven't had an example in your life doesn't mean you can't learn. Mary Margaret may not have had examples of a loving family that she remembers, but she is filled with love for my son. How can I not appreciate that?" Ruth gestured with her chin toward Henry. "Look at Henry. You are a wonderful mother to him, though you had no idea how to do that at first. It's never too late to learn how to love someone or care about them."

"Are we still talking about Henry riding a horse?" Emma asked, digging into her bag to pull out the hot chocolate.

"No, just passing on some advice to you. It's my right as an old person. That and watching Wheel of Fortune without being interrupted."

***AAA***

Emma smiled at the phone in her hand as Mary Margaret and Regina rehashed the catering menu with Granny. She was not quite sure why she was even there, as her opinions had been either ignored or shot down by Regina for the past hour. "When I get married," Emma muttered to herself, "I'm seriously eloping to Vegas. I don't want all this hassle." She was suddenly glad she hadn't said that aloud, as Mary Margaret would probably have pulled out champagne toasts that she was even considering the idea of getting married someday. She did not have a groom in mind, no matter what anyone thought.

Her phone chimed with the message from him.

 **Killian: Your boy seems to enjoy David's jokes far too much, love. Should get him out more to experience real wit and comedy.**

David had taken his mother and Henry back to the sheriff's station after meeting with Regina for more than three hours. According to the text messages, Henry was having a blast and was enjoying the life of law enforcement in a small town.

 **Emma: There's no accounting for taste. He's also a fan of all those superhero and comic book movies.**

 **Killian: While not great literature or classics, there is something entertaining and oddly satisfying about the simple tales of good triumphing over evil.**

 **Emma: Fine, next one to come out means you get to stand in line with Henry for hours and stop him from trying to use your credit card to buy all the Funko dolls, action figures, and Lego playsets that he just has to have to reenact every single scene.**

 **Killian: Gladly. So long as I get the pleasure of your company in that dark theater?**

Emma felt her stomach roll at the idea of Killian somehow being a part of their life in that way. While he seemed willing, she still had her doubts about the levels of his devotion after 12-hour shifts and just as long drives to get to them for what? A day and a half? It wasn't going to be worth it for long. She wasn't sure she was worth it.

Their texting session was interrupted by Mary Margaret who was apparently torn between two passed appetizers and three. She had put in a request for three, but Regina apparently felt that was too much for the reception. "We don't want people skipping the meal that we're paying per head not per appetite."

"But what do you think, Emma?" Mary Margaret asked as she studied the menu. "Granny suggested bruschetta with traditional toppings, a tomato and goat cheese tartlet, and a canape with melon and prosciutto. David and I like all those things."

"You and David," Regina said, placing a thin hand on her waist and pushing back her tailored blazer, "are not the ones filling up on these things. You'll be hugging and kissing all the well wishers. I'm thinking about those brutish guests of yours."

"I think three would be good," Emma said, glancing at the selections. "I would at all of those."

"Miss Swan, this isn't about what tastes good. It is about creating the proper menu so that people are not so full that they leave early and there is nobody there to blow bubbles or throw rice or whatever it is people do these days."

Mary Margaret seemed to shrink back in her seat as the woman in front of her towered over the conversation. Placing the phone back on the table, Emma grabbed the checklist out of the bride's hands and gave it a quick once over. "You're having an open bar, right?" Getting an affirmative nod, Emma smiled. "There you have it. People will stay for the booze. You can serve two or 20 canape things. People will stay for the booze."

Making a distinctly negative sound with her nose, Regina scoffed at the idea. "Mary Margaret, you can't be serious about all this. You invited Mrs. Feinberg. She's been a lush far longer than her husband got carted off by the FBI. That woman will put you in debt with her gin intake alone."

Emma tried to remember who Mrs. Feinberg was, but couldn't quite place her until Mary Margaret referred to her as Cruella. That did strike a bell, as the woman was the socialite whose husband retired to the quaint town of Storybrooke and brought her along kicking and screaming about missing the social season. Even in the dead of summer she was decked out in fur coats and had a large white streak in her pepper black hair that reminded them all of the 101 Dalmatians cartoon. She did normally have a drink in one hand a cigarette in the other, giving cougars a bad name with how she shamelessly flirted with all men.

Her phone chimed again and she smiled at the picture that filled her screen of Henry and Killian both behind the bars of one of the station's two jail cells looking sad and bewildered. The smile erupted into laughter with the next picture that included a handwritten sign begging for bail money.

Killian: Or at least a cake with a file in it, love?

Emma: You are overestimating my cooking skills. Pancakes were a stretch for me.

Killian: I'm sure they were lovely.

Emma: Oh right. We never did eat those, did we?

Blushing Emma watched as the three dots on her phone indicated he was texting back. However, her blush deepened when Mary Margaret stole the phone away from her and literally squealed over the two pictures. "Oh my God, Emma," she said, holding the phone up to a new angle. "These are adorable. Did I tell you he was a great guy or what?"

She didn't bother looking at Regina who was clearly even more annoyed. "Yes, Mary Margaret. Can I have my phone back?"

"He's coming tonight, right? We have 300 party favors to wrap so most of the wedding party is coming over tonight to eat pizza and put names in the picture frames, tie bows, and put together little tea bag and cup sets. I know it's not super exciting, but he is the best man." Mary Margaret pulled out her own phone. "I'll ask him."

"Mary Margaret, you do realize…"

"What? Yout two had a date last night." Her voice dropped on the word date and her eyebrows flew upward. "And we haven't talked about what time you came home."

Regina pinched the bridge of her nose with her thumb and forefinger. "So yeah, anyway. I think you should let Emma do her own bidding when it comes to dates. And I think we need to trim this menu. What are you going to do with all the leftovers? We don't even have a homeless problem in Storybrooke. There's no shelter willing to accept lobster bisque and champagne." She was the picture of business in elegance in a charcoal gray pantsuit and her hair freshly cut and styled. Despite her role in the wedding as the stepmother of the bride, she was not going to partake in what she had described as Mary Margaret's Pinterest obsession event.

Mary Margaret enlarged the picture and waved it in front of the mayor. "Look how adorable. Aren't they precious?"

Emma remembered the feeling of him moving inside her, the way that her body had practically melted and incinerated all at once. That was hot and steamy, but not precious. "Can I please have my phone back?"

Mary Margaret sighed and dropped the phone into her friend's hands. "It's a good thing, right? The fact that he gets along with Henry. That's a good thing. I mean a relationship would be kind of a dead end if he didn't like your kid or your kid didn't like him. Believe me, I've seen it at school hundreds of times. And I lived it when my father married…" She paused and sheepishly looked at an annoyed Regina. "Regina, we haven't always gotten along."

"No, she's right. It's important that any potential boyfriend you have be open to you having your son. You wouldn't want to be with a guy who hated Henry." She tapped a well manicured finger against the table. "I don't know that I could do it. Dating with a child, I mean. It's asking a lot of a man to expect him to…"

Emma rolled her eyes and pushed the checklist back over to Mary Margaret. "Nobody is expecting anything of anyone. It's very simple. We had a date. Mary Margaret and David have been pushing it since I got here. So we went out. Had dinner…" She didn't bring up the rest. "It's just what it is. That's all. I'll be back in Boston for the new year."

Clearing her throat Mary Margaret made a few marks on the page and kept her eyes averted while Regina looked vaguely confused. "You're returning to Boston? But I thought...never mind."

"Yes," Emma said slowly as if trying to explain to a small child why it was not advisable to jump off the roof and see if one could fly. "Henry and I live in Boston. We're just in town for the wedding and Christmas. We'll be going home soon."

"Right," Regina said just as slowly. "I must have misunderstood David. I mean that's great. Boston is great. I'm sure it would be hard here for you as a single mom. Most guys aren't like Killian. They don't want the baggage of some other guy's child to help raise if things get serious. But he's always been a bit different. Always seeking something more."

"Regina, Killian's not a grass is always greener type."

"No, but he's not made it any secret that he wants to move on from being a deputy. We were talking about that today in the budget meeting. David's talking about taking on a second deputy, succession training and all that. He's not taking the chance of being left behind when Killian finds what he's looking for in a career." Regina smiled, her lipstick perfectly matching the ruby red blouse she wore under her blazer. "And I'm sure he's enjoying the idea of spending time with a woman who already has the big career outside of Storybrooke."

Mary Margaret grimaced and signaled to Granny that she was ready. Passing off the edited menu without a word of advice from Regina or Emma, she folded her arms on the table. "Killian's not like that. He's sensitive, kind, loyal, and everything a woman could want. And he has great taste to be interested in Emma."

"Oh I'm sure he does have great taste," Regina said, lifting one shoulder. "But Emma knows what I mean. You can't be too careful these days. Men see a single mom and they usually want one of two things because they know that woman has limited options. They want her money or just no strings attached sex." She tapped on the side her glass. "You know the type. They paint a pretty picture of weekends in front of the fire. They promise the world. Then they get you in bed. Next thing you know, they're busy. They don't think your kid likes them. It's better for you that they walk away."

***AAA***

By the time they picked up the pizzas and arrived back at the farm, David had returned with Henry and Ruth, along with probably 30 boxes of craft supplies for the party. It had been a long trip back over the uneven roads as they tried to balance the pizza boxes while Mary Margaret had tried to come up with reasons while Regina was wrong about Killian.

"She's just bitter," Mary Margaret explained for the third time. "She lost her fiance, married my father who was much older, and has been alone ever since. Her mother was sort of the cougar on the prowl, but Regina's more subdued. Frigid."

"It's fine, Mary Margaret, I swear." Emma wasn't going to tell her friend that she had been halfway to planning romantic weekends with the guy. He was just a fun fling, just like everyone had planned. They didn't have to know that just like Regina had said, Killian painted a very pretty picture. As much as her heart was trying to tell her that this was different with Killian, her brain replayed the scene with Regina too many times. Hadn't she been making the same arguments.

When Killian did arrive at the farm to help with the party favor preparations, he was joking he was there to "lend a hand." Thankfully, Emma realized when his lips brushed her cheek, he was not making any grand overtures in her direction. Not that she really expected him to strip her naked and take her on the dining room table that was turning into the inside of a craft store after a 50% off sale with bits of ribbon, lace, glitter, buttons, and hot glue everywhere.

"Glad to see you out of the brig, lad," Killian called out when Henry entered the room carrying a box of name cards that Mary Margaret had insisted they could handwrite with each guest's name. "Otherwise you might not fully appreciate this gift."

The boy's eyes lit up at the sight of the video game, some new title that wasn't even out in stores before they had left on their trip. Emma quirked an eyebrow at the cellophane wrapped gift as he son speed read the back cover. "That's very generous," she said, prodding Henry to thank Killian while questioning the purpose of such a thing.

"My brother's been studying graphic design for a while and took an elective on computer animation. Led to an internship at the company making those blasted things. He had a few scattered about and I thought the lad might enjoy it." He nudged Emma's hip with his own. "I might have overstepped my bounds though. Perhaps Father Christmas was planning to bring your son this same game?"

"Can I play it now?" Henry asked, the cellophane wrapping still sticking to his fingers. She cringed as she noticed that her son was not wearing his normal t-shirt or sweats. He was dressed in a flannel shirt and had even combed his hair much like his uncle David. David was a good man to admire, but she wondered for probably the millionth time if she was enough for her son. "Please, Mom, please?" He threw in a thank you to Killian and an exclamation of how cool it was that Killian's brother had been part of the making of the game.

"Tomorrow," Emma said, shaking her head. "You're supposed to be helping tie ribbons or whatever tonight." The boy looked crestfallen. "Henry, don't test me. You know why we are here."

David clapped his deputy on the shoulder and gave Henry a hopeful smile. "Actually, I was going to ask if he might watch over Roland while the adults did the decorating? Robin's bringing him along and I thought the guys might enjoy a few video games. This one's pretty cool what with princes, knights, wizards, and all that."

"There's a pirate too," Henry exclaimed, waving the package in front of David's face. "I bet Roland would love it."

"Fine," Emma said, moving the name cards to the correct spot at the table and unboxing a few pens. "But no more than 90 minutes of screen time. I'm serious, kid. Read a book or something. I mean a real book not one with pictures."

David ushered Henry out, claiming he was just going to get the game set up for him. "The wires are a bit tricky," he commented as he passed Ruth and Mary Margaret on their way to the kitchen to check on the drinks chilling and waiting for the pizzas. Even in that moment he couldn't help but give his fiance a gentle kiss and a whispered greeting. The genuine moment was something Emma looked away from yet longed for at the same time. It wasn't so much the love or belonging, but the fact that someone cared enough that if you were missing they would notice.

As soon everyone else had disappeared, Killian descended upon Emma's lips with his own, hungrily expressing his hours of missing her. It was as if he had been craving such a moment all day, and maybe he had. Maybe she had too. Tucking a bit of her hair behind her ear, he smiled. "I should have asked you about the gift for Henry. It's just I saw it as I was straightening up the flat and thought he might enjoy it."

"It was very generous," Emma said a bit coolly as she stepped back and busied herself with more of the supplies. "But you really didn't have to do that. I mean it's not like you're going to be around him that much. You don't have to impress him."

"Perhaps not, but I am trying to impress you, Emma." He dug his hand into the oversized pocket of his hoodie and waited for her to say something to him that would explain the chill in the air after the night and morning they had spent.

"Why? You already got me in bed, Killian. There's nothing else…"

"Wow, I knew you had walls, Emma, but I had no idea they were reinforced with barbed wire and cement. Darling, I wasn't meaning anything nefarious. I simply thought that if we were to explore whatever this is between us that it might be useful to have the lad see me as not a threat for your attention. I should have asked you though. I see that now." He rocked back on his heels. I'm afraid my experiences wooing a woman don't typically include all this."

"This isn't about the damn gift," Emma said, her hand flying up to touch the swan pendant at the v of her shirt. "Killian, I already told you I don't know how to do this. I don't bring guys around my son. I keep those two separate, okay? But you, you're different. You're already here in his life and if you were serious about us spending time together even after he and I go back to Boston…"

"I'm a bit offended you would think I wasn't serious about that, love. I will admit that while David was discussing the budget with the mayor today I was on my phone plotting routes to see you. Perhaps in the spring I might sail down, take you and your boy out for a bit of a cruise?"

She blanched, dumping a pile of decorating do-dads into a pile on the table. "The spring?"

"Aye, it usually follows the winter. Rain, flowers, all that?" He smiled and busied himself with a tray of stamps and ink. "She truly is a teacher, isn't she? It's a bloody blizzard of glitter in here."

Emma's green eyes didn't lift to meet his blue ones. "She loves what she does and is good at it. Killian, maybe we shouldn't plan too far ahead. Let's just see…"

He snorted, pushing a chair under the table. "I should have expected that one. Emma, I suppose I should thank you for last night and this morning and be glad that I had that time with you. Clearly you are trying to give me a proper goodbye here." She didn't answer right away even as he watched her without pretense. "Very well. Emma, for what it is worth, I quite enjoyed the time we've spent together. And if I have said or done anything to make you regret the things that transpired, I apologize. I will leave now. You have my number if anything…"

"I don't," she said, grasping the pendant so hard that it practically imprinted on her hand. "Seriously."

He gave her a half smile and a tilt of his head. "You don't? I'm afraid I need more than that."

She blinked at him incredulously and wondered if he was simply toying with her at that point. He was surely not confused. He seemed to be able to read her mind, know everything about her. "I don't regret last night or this morning. I don't want you to leave."

"You don't?" One eyebrow lifted high and his smile grew, though tentative as it was.

She gave an exasperated sigh, restacking some of the cardstock neater. "I don't what? I'm afraid I need more than that." She was parroting him, mocking the seriousness of his question, but she couldn't help it. He knew that too and crossed around the table to her, lifting her chin with his fingers.

"Emma," he said, the tip of his tongue touching his lips lightly. "I know you don't trust me not to hurt you. But I swear that is not my aim here. I don't wish to cause you any pain or hurt. In fact, I'm not sure that it would be Dave or Mary Margaret that beat me should I hurt you. I might do so myself for being such a prat as to ruin whatever chance I have to be in your life. And make no mistake, Emma, I want to be in your life."

Her mouth felt dry as she stared up at him, wondering how it would work or even if she could make it work. "I'm going to screw this up, you know? I am going to…"

She didn't get to finish as he kissed her again, the pile of papers she was stacking falling to the floor. Her hands now free, carded through his thick dark hair and his hand and arm circled round her back to pull her closer to him. It was a quiet and soft kiss at first, changing as she nipped and tugged at his bottom lip. That move was rewarded with a guttural sort of growl that she appreciated.

"Told you!" Mary Margaret exclaimed, tugging on her husband to be's sleeve as she bounced on the balls of her feet. "They're so cute together." He smiled, but shook his head and turned to go back to the kitchen.

Ruby, who was standing next to Dorothy scoffed at the excited bride's enthusiasm. "They were about to do it on top of all the party favors for God's sake, Mary Margaret. That's not cute. It's hot, but you're acting like they are two pandas at the zoo. You aren't taking pics of this are you because that would be creepy."

Open mouthed and blushing, Emma dropped her head to Killian's chest and breathed in the scent of him as he vibrated with unspent laughter. So that was how Mary Margaret would react.


	6. Chapter 6

Emma's left arm rested on her forehead, forcing her eyes closed as she willed sleep to come in the too quiet farm house where she and her son were staying the night. David had long since gone to bed, his mother complaining of a headache since the rehearsal dinner. He'd dutifully roused Mr. Clark over at the pharmacy and given her a dosage of over the counter pain killers in hopes that she would be fine for the ceremony the next day. Even in her stupor of pain and medication, Ruth had been adamant that the happy couple not see each other prior to the wedding.

"It's just a superstition," David had complained as they all attempted to cram into the cab of the truck. Thankfully Killian had taken pity and offered Emma a ride back to the farm. She wasn't going to remember the good night kiss at the door to the white and blue house in the glow of the porch light that David was flipping on and off from inside. It was too domestic. Too sweet. Too much like the youth she had been denied except for a few glimpses of it from selfless women like Ruth Nolan.

"You want to risk a bad marriage over sleeping arrangements?" Ruth had asked, rubbing her temples. "You're as reckless and careless as your father sometimes."

That had done it. Any mention of the alcoholic farmer who had disappeared years ago and David was back to his competitive self. He'd offered to take a room at Granny's or even sleep at the station in an unused cell. But that was not approved by his ailing mother. So Mary Margaret was whisked away by Ruby and Granny for her final night as a single woman. The ladies had already done their bridal shower turned bachelorette party, reserving the night before the wedding for rest and rejuvenation.

"No sense in both of us losing a comfortable bed," she told Emma before disappearing in the red car.

So Emma had ridden back with Killian, him stealing glances and even kissing her at the town's one and only stop light to the point that the car behind them honked when he missed it changing to green. He'd wanted to bring her back to his place, spoken to her about what he wanted with warm breath against her ear as they stood in a dark corner of the church. She had known then that she was going straight to hell. She'd even told him that as his lips trailed over her neck as his hand (a very busy hand) had dislodged her sweater dress to the point that there was no doubt what was about to happen when the stand in officiant – David and Mary Margaret's good friend Lance – had come in search of them to get started. He'd not let them forget that they were caught making out in the dark corner of the church.

"I'm totally going to hell," Emma said, burying her face in her pillow and trying to ignore the gnawing feeling in her gut. She didn't feel all that guilty; just a little embarrassed. After all, she had to walk back into the sanctuary with her hair and dress askew in front of her high school friends and her son who all knew what they had been up to that night. Well, maybe Henry didn't know exactly. But he wasn't totally naïve and had a sort of knowing smile crossed with a grossed out look. Yeah, hell was looking more and more like a real possibility.

She should have been asleep. The night before she, Mary Margaret, and the rest of the female wedding party members had drank shots at the Rabbit Hole and then collapsed in the living room of Granny and Ruby's suite at the bed and breakfast. Three bottles of wine and a rousing game of truth or dare later, Emma was quite sure she had never laughed so hard in her life. There'd been the dirty jokes about the lingerie they all bought the actually blushing bride and the suggestive hints about David's eventual reaction to it. Ruby had even bought an extra of the edible panties so that they could try them instead of just guessing at the flavor. She'd gotten precious little sleep and wanted now to make up for that fact before she was thrust into that domestic bubble of fluffing dress trains and peeking around corners to count the number of guests.

But her eyes were wide open as she begged her conscious self to relax and let sleep replenish her. She'd not had a good night's rest since the boat with Killian. And that was something she wasn't ready to analyze even as he mind raced wildly. In about 12 hours she would be at the church for the wedding. In a few days it would be Christmas. And then she would be packing up her bug, her son, and their bags to head back to Boston. Despite everything that Killian was offering, she had a hard time imagining this as something that would last even until the New Year, let alone long term. That made her somewhat sad and even kind of angry.

She was contemplating sneaking downstairs for some late night television that would surely put her to sleep when she heard the tap at her window. With her room on the second floor that seemed unlikely as she peeled back the curtains to look. Sure enough he stood there on the frozen lawn with a saucy grin that seemed to dare her to respond. "Seriously?" she asked when she managed to open the window that protested greatly as she broke the seal of paint. "You couldn't just call me?"

"I thought that might wake you," he told her, dropping the handful of rocks that he had balanced in his prosthetic hand and smiling up to her. "If you were asleep, the rocks would not have disturbed you…"

"I'm not," she answered bitterly. "But you're going to wake up Ruth if you stand out there too long."

"Is that your way of inviting me in, Swan?" He shoved his hand into the pocket of his jacket and tilted his head. The moonlight made it appear as though his inky black hair had created a silvery glow that aged him.

"Are you wanting to come in?" She couldn't imagine that either. David was one wall away and Henry was in the room on the opposite wall. She doubted Killian merely meant to sleep next to her. Though the thought of her head on his chest made her think happily of dozing while his fingers threaded through her hair and his heart beat beneath her ear.

"Tempting, but no, love. I was driving about trying to work through the script for my toast to our lovely friends when I spied a sight that nobody should miss. I'm here to take you and your lad out for a little sightseeing. So gather your coats and meet me at my car? I would come in and escort you, but I'd rather not risk waking Ruth or David." She couldn't be sure in the dim light or at the distance, but he seemed to wink at her salaciously.

"Henry's probably asleep," she protested, her arm crossing over her chest in her off white flannel pajamas. "I would be a horrible mother if I…"

"There's a light in his window," Killian said, gesturing with his chin toward the window to the room where Henry was supposed to be sleeping. "Moves around a bit, like a torch or flashlight. Perhaps he's reading under the covers like many young lads do his age."

She gripped the ledge with her one free hand. "Right, and you can see that from down there."

"I'm a bloody good detective, Emma. I keep hoping you'll see that and be impressed."

If she was being honest, she was impressed. But she wasn't sure if she wanted him to know that.

***AAA***

If it was weird that Killian had insisted on bringing Henry along, Emma soon forgot about that as her and son and her whatever the man driving was had a long and intense conversation about the latest comic book super hero movie that her son was just dying to see. She followed such things, but obviously not as much as Killian who was giving him a history lesson on Superman to understand them. Her son, who was a good writer and creative but struggled in other subjects, was sitting there in the back seat completely enthralled by the whole scene that Killian was painting for him.

"So that was because of the war?"

"Aye," said Killian. They had been talking about the Second World War, a concept that Emma wasn't sure that Henry had ever even studied at school. He tended to dislike history. But with Killian he was hanging on every word and throwing in what she considered intelligent questions. She stayed quiet as he expertly maneuvered the long narrow roads as if he had made the trip hundreds of times.

Eventually he pulled his car into the empty lot, nosing it a parking spot as if it was important to keep that bit of propriety even in the middle of nowhere. Folding his arms onto the top of the steering wheel, he squinted up at the night sky and smiled. "They said clouds would roll in, but we're lucky so far," he told them. "Grab the blankets and let's be on with it."

"Blankets?" Emma asked, unfolding herself from the passenger seat and craning her neck up to see whatever it was he was supposed to be showing them. She saw a few stars against the inky black sky but that was it. "You're seriously going to murder us and toss us in the water."

"Mom," Henry complained, throwing her two of the fleece blankets in shades of blue and green. "Killian wouldn't do that."

"Seems as though I have earned the lad's trust," Killian smiled, helping Henry from the backseat. "Perhaps you might be so kind as to extend yours as well."

"I'm holding off judgment," Emma told him before he jogged around the car to her side and relieved her of the blankets with his left arm and grabbed ahold of her hand with his right. She looked down at their clasped hands and wondered for a moment. "Seriously?"

"I apologize, milady," he teased back, kissing the side of her hand and not letting go. "I wasn't aware this was too intimate for you."

Huffing, she didn't let go either and dug her free hand into her pocket of her jacket. "I'm going to let you hold my hand because it's cold out here and there is something about body heat or something."

Her son, who was engulfed in a puffy winter coat that seemed to swallow him, ran ahead down the path toward the water that was glowing under the moon's glare. He completely ignored the warning sign and was scaling a two railed fence toward the rocks on the shoreline when she called out to him to be careful. Giving her a half-hearted wave, he rocked on his feet and stared out at the water while waiting for them to join him.

"Emma, I'm glad you agreed to come here tonight," Killian said, still not taking a step and looking at her with the intenseness of a man determined to speak more than just compliments.

"Well, it wasn't like I was sleeping, you know. Just a wedding tomorrow." She grinned and squinted down toward the shore. Henry wasn't breaking her commandment about heading out onto the rocks, but he was certainly staring at them hard and bouncing on his toes. "But that's what strong coffee and concealer are for, right?"

Killian didn't smile in return, squeezing her hand a bit tighter as he stared off toward the horizon too. "You do that quite a bit, love." He didn't wait for her to ask for clarification.

"You respond with a joke, a bit of sarcasm to take away the moment."

She rolled her head back in his direction. "Are we having a moment?"

"I would like to, if you would be so kind." He blinked as though the light was too bright in his eyes, though that couldn't have been the case there in the winter's darkness. "I think we probably should talk."

"I guess so."

"You're spending the rest of your holiday with Ruth, are you not? Letting the couple enjoy their wedded bliss alone for a while?"

She nodded. "For a few days. Ruth's been promising Henry a real farmhouse Christmas. I only hope that doesn't mean livestock around the tree or something." She shrugged apologetically when she realized she had joked again. "And you? Where will you be?"

"Probably knocking about the flat with my brother and his girlfriend. Putting in some extra hours at the station what with David busy." He lifted their hands again and brushed his lips over the back of hers. "I was hoping to see you though. Before there are miles separating us and everything requires a bit more planning."

She stood up on tiptoes and placed her own kiss to his cheek. "I'd like that, even if I'm still not so sure about this whole distance thing. You know that once she returns down to earth from her wedded bliss cloud that Mary Margaret's going to put a lot of pressure on me to come back and visit to see you and vice versa."

"Good thing we're not scared of the lass," he said, tugging her along. "Come now. Your boy isn't likely to wait much longer and we have a bit of a hike before we reach the best area."

The crossed the 300 or so feet from where he had parked to where Henry was studying something just beyond the tree line to their north and west. He didn't acknowledge them as they approached except to ask a question. "Is that aliens?"

Killian chuckled and waited until the boy hopped down and anxiously turned his attention back to them. "No, but it is an eerie sort of glow, is it not?"

"Yeah," Henry agreed, ducking under his mother's arm. She wasn't sure if that was for warmth or protection as Killian led them down a path that seemed impossibly dark.

Thankfully he had reminded Henry to grab a flashlight from the car, causing a bit of a confusion when he referred to it as a torch instead. They were another few hundred feet away before Henry spoke again. "Do you think it's poisonous? Like a gas or something?"

"I assure you, the lights are perfectly safe," Killian said, resisting the urge to laugh again. Emma was grateful for that, as her son would not appreciate it.

"Lights?" Henry said, his steps slowing. "Are those the Northern Lights?"

"Aye, there are some better times to see them, but I heard they were still quite a show this week. Thought we might catch a glimpse of them and appreciate…"

Henry darted the flashlight again, snaking the beam of light out over the path. "We talked about them in school, but I don't really remember much. Are you sure they aren't poisonous or something? It could be like nuclear war or something."

"That's it," Emma said, half joking. "When we get back to Boston, your screen time is cut in half and you're breaking out the science books, kid."

Henry groaned and wiggled out from under Emma's arm. "Can I run ahead?"

"Not too far," Emma warned. "And remember, if I call out to you, shine the flashlight back in this direction, okay? No leaving your mother stranded." She watched as he scampered away, the light bouncing off the tall evergreens and bare branched trees that lined the path. "The Northern Lights?"

"I was not speaking in jest, love. They are a beautiful sight and one that everyone should see at least once. I hoped that you might enjoy…"

While she could not really see his face in the darkness, she could feel the intensity of his stare at her direction. "I have always wanted to see them. I never managed to be here when they were visible."

"I'm glad to share them with you for the first time then, love." The path was a bit uneven in that part and he slowed their steps to a near stop. She assumed it was for safety until his head ducked and his mouth covered hers. He swallowed her short gasp of surprise."

When they broke for air, she blinked to test if it might help her see better. "I heard they are beautiful."

"Then it is fitting," he said a bit huskily. "For I don't think I've ever seen a sight more beautiful than you."

Her breathless laugh was barely a titter. "You don't have to do that, you know? Flatter me. I'm not pushing you away."

"I assure you that it is not flattery, but if I must be a bit more circumvent with my compliments, I will do that."

She took a tentative step forward. "I didn't say I didn't like it."

***AAA***

Emma heard David stirring about before she even managed to pull the colorful quilt down from where it was keeping her warm in a cocoon of lavender scented softness. Of course he would be up early, she thought, wiggling against the solid heat of Killian Jones behind her. David was always up early to do chores when she had lived with the family, making her feel guilty for being somewhat more attuned to natural and normal sleep patterns.

"He's a machine," Killian muttered against her shoulder as she groaned with the resignation that her surrogate brother was banging pots in the kitchen and of course making breakfast.

"He's a pain," she clarified, burrowing her head under the tented pillow to block out the noise. "He's getting married today. Shouldn't he be, I don't know, doing wedding things?"

Killian didn't answer, tightening his handless arm around her waist and brushing his lips against her shoulder. It had been late when they returned from the jaunt to see the Northern Lights, Henry's questions about what caused them and why they looked like something from a horror movie fading into the stillness as he fell asleep across the backseat of the car. Emma hadn't said much, watching the first fat flakes of snow fall and then gather with more depth at the sides of the road as they sped back toward the farm. By the time they had arrived, half walked and half drug Henry back up the steps, there had been at least six inches coating the ground and a thick sheen of ice on the trees that were groaning under the effort. Emma wasn't sure she wanted to see what it looked like now.

"I'm not getting up yet," she protested when Killian moved back toward the edge of the mattress. "It's too early."

He chuckled, at least she thought that was the sound because under the pillow it sounded a bit odd. "I'm just going to check the weather, love. It was wailing quite a storm last night."

She peeked out from beneath the buttery yellow sheets to watch him, his jeans low on this hips and his feet bare on the scattered rugs and pine floors. He squinted out past the lacy curtains. "How bad?" she asked, her nose feeling the cold as she sniffed the air to detect what David was cooking downstairs.

Holding the curtain back with his hand, he gave her a view of the gray sky and mounds of snow that were growing still as the blankets were added to by fast falling flakes. "I know the wedding is today, but with this…"

"People aren't going to be able to make it to the church," Emma commented, sitting up and running a hand through her tangled and tousled hair. "Mary Margaret's going to be pissed." Worried would have been a better description, she realized as she scrolled through the messages on the phone. Mary Margaret was going a bit nuts. She was even suggesting building bonfires and purchasing all the hair dryers and space heaters in town to melt the path to the church.

"Aye, best get dressed and head out to help the work crews clear the roads. I'll see what I can learn about conditions." He let the curtain fall. "If you want to be with the bride, I could give you a ride to the bed and breakfast. Might be good to have you there to calm her nerves over this latest calamity."

They still had to get downstairs, Killian wearing his clothes from the day before and get past David, Henry, and Ruth, who were sure to comment about his presence there. And while she would say to him that she wasn't exactly embarrassed, she was unsure if she felt comfortable enough to simply march him into the kitchen and grab a protein bar or poptart while the others judged her. But since he didn't seem to be bothered with it, she pretended that it didn't rile her nerves either.

"She's probably climbing the walls," Emma said as she slid into the driver's seat of the truck. It was the only vehicle with four wheel drive other than the police cruiser. And given that it was a stick rather than an automatic, her two hands were needed for the adventure. Again, Killian didn't seem to mind, swinging open the door for her and giving her a little boost since there were no running boards for her. David and Henry watched from the porch, smiling widely and waving wildly at them. "You know she likes to have everything under control."

"It'll be fine. Even if I have to get those so-called uncles of hers to dig a path up to the mountain top so we can use the bloody church."

But it wasn't fine. Trees were down all over Storybrooke and the truck slid aimlessly at least eight times before she managed to pull it into a parking spot next to Ruby's red sports car. The ice melt substance hadn't made much of a dent in the covered sidewalk yet and Emma almost went down on a particularly slippery patch that Killian vowed to fix as he got her into an upright position.

Somehow they managed to get Mary Margaret, her wedding dress, overnight bag, and a dozen or so gifts that had been left for her and David into the truck before Killian went in search of the patrol car with its snow tires and scrapers. It was slow going but they made it back to the farm just before noon with Ruby and Granny in tow too.

"But we'll see each other," Mary Margaret said in a deflated tone as they pulled the truck around to the backside of the house where there was a covered porch for their entry.

"A risk you're going to have to take if we're going to put our heads together about how to hold a wedding when nobody can get there, including you and Dr. Hopper." Emma helped Mary Margaret inside and was grateful for the mugs of hot cocoa that Henry had made for them both. David was upstairs rummaging about, but Ruth was seated at the table with a warm shawl over her shoulders.

"It might be best to postpone," she said in a soft yet shaking tone. "I know you only hurried things along so that I would be sure to see you two get married. It was a gift to even see the rehearsal last night."

Mary Margaret sipped from her own mug and looked wistfully out the window across the snow covered pasture. "I'm sorry. I know you…"

"You are gift enough, for me and my son. You have tried to make this old woman's dream come true of seeing her son happily married and living the life he was meant to live. And I am truly sorry if I put any pressure on you to have this wedding now because of my health. I don't know how much time I have left or even if my mind will let me remember the finer details much longer. But know that there is such comfort in knowing you will be here for my son even after I'm gone."

Reaching awkwardly around the table, Mary Margaret hugged her future mother in law. "I promise I'll take care of him."

Emma was attempting to slip out of the room unnoticed when the patrol car pulled up with Ruby, Granny, and Killian. Someone else was in the backseat, but Emma couldn't quite figure out who that was either. Then she saw Lance, his smile bright against his dark features and his eyes dancing as he stared up at the farm house and then out at the pasture. "Quite a place you've got here, Nolan," he called out to his friend. David must have heard him through the window because the sheriff's heavy footsteps were heard overhead and coming toward the stairs.

Ruby, who was helping Granny in through the door looked a bit startled and then left her grandmother with scarf twisted between them to rush to Mary Margaret's side. She deftly spun to untangle herself from the knitted materials before enveloping her friend in a hug and pushing her into the walk in pantry. "I did not spend all night with you whining about missing David just so he can run down here and see you before the wedding."

"But how can there be a wedding…" The rest of the bride's question was cut off as the door to the pantry slammed shut just moments before David rushed inside the kitchen.

Granny and Ruby both chastised David as Lance took his time coming in and kissing Ruth's cheek. He and Killian both looked smug as they took turns flanking the older lady and telling her that she had to hurry, as there was a wedding to attend.

Receiving a long kiss hello, which seemed odd since their time apart had been short, Emma stared quizzically at Killian. "Seriously? Did you not see the road to the church? Dr. Hopper told Mary Margaret via that it is too cold to walk his dog and that means it is too cold to perform a wedding."

Lance unfolded a paper from his pocket. "When I realized that the wedding might be in jeopardy, I ensured that my online license was up to date. I'm going to perform the wedding right here."

Killian couldn't hide his smile when Mary Margaret's voice broke through the surprised silence asking if David was there and if whoever was speaking could please speak louder. When Emma looked at him, he gave a short laugh. "It wasn't my idea, love. I was digging out the patrol car when Lance came by with a cup of coffee and asked about things. He offered."

"It would be rather simple. We have the bride, the groom, the mother of the groom, a few witnesses. You brought your dress, didn't you?" Lance spoke directly to the door. It's not a church wedding, but we could muster up something here. Perhaps in the living room near the fireplace. And if I remember correctly, Emma, your son is adept with a camera. You and Killian could stay as officiants."

"Just think," Ruby called out to her friend behind the door. "No Regina. She can't possibly blame you for the weather keeping her away."

"But all our plans," David said looking quite torn as his mother approached him and patted his hand. "This would be great, but there was a cake and all that food."

"Most of which is in the trunk of the patrol car," Granny said. "I realize this is rather odd for me to say since Ruby is standing here, but let your bride out of the closet, David. You get upstairs. We'll get Mary Margaret dressed and ready for the wedding. Unless you have cold feet there?"

Emma wasn't even sure what happened at that point, as there was a rush of dresses and Granny heating things on the stove as Killian and Lance brought in food and the carefully carried cake. Henry and Ruth set about rearranging the furniture in the living room with her directing and him pushing and tugging on things to the point that Emma worried he might be scratching the floors. Once the trunk was unloaded, Killian and Lance set about helping him and then went upstairs to raid David's closet for something to wear since their own tuxes for the wedding were back in town.

Ruby and Emma both donned their dresses with Ruby using a sample dress instead. Then they set about making sure that Mary Margaret was ready for the wedding. Soon she looked the part of a traditional bride under mountains of lace and tulle, her face obscured by the veil that her own mother had worn.

"It's a little much," Ruby said tactfully as Emma and the teacher struggled to tame it. "I like it. It's sentimental and all, but maybe…" She lifted the veil and folded the lace back over the bride's head to cascade down her back. The move highlighted the delicate tiara style headband. "Maybe since this is an indoor wedding in a farmhouse, we want to go a little less traditional."

Mary Margaret bit her lip as she stared into the full length mirror.

"It would help with walking down those stairs. I know Leroy was going to give you away, but you're kind of walking solo now…" Emma frowned as she caught her friend's gaze in the mirror, the sadness of a wedding without family hitting hard. "Oh Mary Margaret, everything is going to be fine. Better than fine. It's going to be a beautiful wedding. And you can have the big ceremony…"

Turning from the mirror, Mary Margaret clasped both of her friend's hands and smiled sadly. "Help me out of this thing," she said firmly. "This dress just isn't right. I want to wear something simple and something that fits this house, me, us. And as far who is giving me away, well I have an idea."

So that was how Mary Margaret and David got married. David wore a suit jacket over a flannel shirt, as his dress shirts all needed ironing. Lance and Killian both donned flannel shirts too in support and convenience. Emma and Ruby changed into more comfortable dresses that in Granny's words did not look like they were about to work a street corner. And the bride wore a cream colored dress that was probably better suited for winter with her mother's veil quickly stitched and pinned over the shoulders of the dress as an overlay. It looked beautiful with the curtains pulled back to reveal fluffy white blankets of snow and a fire crackling in the fireplace.

Emma felt a bit odd walking down the sort of aisle and feeling that all eyes were on her before the bride. Killian's smile was both warming and a bit off putting as she tried to focus a friendly and comforting expression of her own toward the groom. She wanted him to know it was going to be fine. She wanted him to know that she thought this was perfect. But she knew that he really only needed to hear that from his bride.

And moments after she stepped to the other side of Lance, the bride appeared on the arm of Ruby who was happily stepping in to escort her friend down the aisle. Both women beamed at the odd yet familiar choice, as Ruby truly was the sister Mary Margaret never had. Granny actually clapped her hands together in delight at seeing them walk the short space together before Ruby joined her on the half turned love seat.

Later when they looked at the pictures from Henry's camera, they would see that everyone in attendance smiled throughout. There were laughs when Mary Margaret called him her Prince Charming in flannel and when he called her his sentimental princess. They vowed to love, honor, and cherish each other before exchanging rings. The reception was low key too with various diner dishes and a delicious cake that seemed way too rich and large for such a small group.

"It's not a wedding without dancing," Lance announced, connecting his phone to the speaker and offering a hand to Ruth. The happy couple joined and Ruby dragged Henry onto the floor offering to teach him a few moves before his first school dance in middle school. Granny was slicing up the cake to wrap it up to join the leftovers when Emma felt Killian standing in front of her.

"I know you must be a terrific dancer, love," he said, pulling her up to standing. "Care to show me?"

Given that her son was doing some odd sort of hopping and shaking and Lance was twirling the elderly Ruth gently, she didn't have much of an excuse of propriety. So she let him circle her with his arms, pull her close, and sway to the pop music tunes filling the kitchen. He said very little other than telling her to look as Granny was persuaded to dance with Lance, and Ruth joined in teaching Henry a few odd dance moves.

"It's a perfect wedding," Emma commented, her head falling to his shoulder for a moment.

"Aye, as much of a slave driver as my boss can be, it seems that love looks good on him. Perhaps it might soften him a bit too." The humor was evident as he rested his cheek atop her head. "Makes me wonder if such happy endings are possible for the mortals among us."

Emma shifted. "It hasn't been all that easy for them."

"No, but they overcame the obstacles all the same." He moved them along the floor, mimicking more classic steps to match the mood. "I admire the persistence."

Spinning under his arm and then back toward him again, Emma paused and looked thoughtful. "So I was wondering about Christmas."

"Aye?"

"Maybe I could stop by and bring a gift. For your cat, I mean."

"That sounds quite generous, Swan. Perhaps I could reciprocate with a bauble of some kind for you and your boy?"

Her forehead wrinkled with concern. "I don't know. That would mean you were buying two gifts and I am only buying one. Hardly fair, you know?"

He hummed thoughtfully and gave her a playful twirl around to the amusement of Ruby who audibly gasped. They ignored her. "How do you suggest we might remedy that?"

"Well," she said, pretending to ponder the decision carefully. "Maybe I could find the time to find you a gift too. I mean if I have time and the snow melts a little. I don't want to get your hopes up. Or if not you, I could buy your younger brother something?"

"I'll let you decide that, love. But if you are looking for a few suggestions…"

***AAA***

Emma did manage to find a gift for Killian, wrapping up an antique mapping set for his collection of such things nautical. He'd been appropriately grateful and affectionate at such a thoughtful gift when he joined her and Henry in celebrating a gluttonous array of gifts on Christmas morning at the farm. With their plans for a honeymoon not until spring, David and Mary Margaret returned from their short stint at Granny's Bed and Breakfast to cook way too much food and spoil Henry with at least a dozen gifts.

Fresh off two losses on Henry's latest video game, Emma had heard the crunch of tires on the gravel drive and known that it was Killian. Smiling softly, she had pulled her robe tighter and stood in the door way as he jogged up the steps of the porch and kissed her soundly twice before responding to David's hearty and then slightly annoyed greeting.

"I thought the plan was I was coming over to visit later," she said as Killian dropped gifts for everyone in the room onto a pile next to discarded wrapping paper and ribbons. "I mean you didn't bring your cat, did you?"

"No, she's a bit of a homebody. Doesn't have much of a social life." He walked with her to the porch, their breath condensing in the air as little foggy clouds.

"You and your boy are headed home tomorrow," Killian said, his elbows resting on the railing of the front porch and his eyes staring down at the leaves of one of the bushes heavy with snow. "I have no mixed up my days, have I?"

She curled her hands around the mug of hot cocoa that Mary Margaret had prepared as a pre-appetizer for breakfast that they would share on plates balanced on laps. "I have to get back to work, to friends…Henry's back in school in a little more than a week." She took a sip and let her eyes scan the snowy horizon where a picturesque barn was a lone splash of color with red against the blankets of white. Sun shown through the icicles that hung from the eves, making patterns against the laps of wood that framed the house. "It's so beautiful here. I will miss it."

"And I will miss you," he confessed, straightening up and turning to face her. "You don't have to go, you know? David has secured the funds for a new officer, a deputy for the department. It is sudden and probably not…"

"It's sudden," she admitted, blowing into the chocolatey goodness in the mug. "And I'm not qualified. I didn't go to the academy like you guys. So that would take months, even if I got accepted this week. I doubt he wants to hold the job for me that long."

"It is possible though. Have you even asked him?"

The cocoa slid over her tongue and coated her throat as she took a long gulp. "My life, Henry's life, all of it, is all in Boston."

He said he understood, told her that he was not trying to pressure her or complain. But she could sense the disappointment in his eyes and with the way he reacted for the rest of the day. His smile was genuine and his words soft when they were alone. Yet like him, she was aware of the ticking clock and the limits to their time together. There were no more promises that day of visits or reunions.

However, when the early morning sun glinted off the drifts of snow, he was there to say goodbye. Helping Henry to toss the bags into the backseat of the car while Emma hugged David, Mary Margaret, and Ruth in turn, he nudged the young boy's shoulder and smiled. "You will encourage her to be safe. The roads are passable, but you never know…"

"She's always careful with me," Henry interrupted, squinting up at the man who was silhouetted by the sun. "Are you really going to visit Boston?"

"Aye, that is my intention. You don't mind, do you? I would like to see you and your mother on occasion."

Using his gloved hand, Henry swiped at his nose. "I think we both know who you really want to visit. I'm just the extra baggage."

Killian leaned in a little, his chin gesturing toward the blonde woman standing on her tiptoes to hug David one more time. "I will admit that I do wish to see Emma, but you are hardly an afterthought. I would very much like to see your favorite sites and wonders of Boston. And you still need to show me those super secret tips for playing that game of yours. Perhaps we could keep that quiet though, as I would love to show up my brother by surprise."

"That could be fun," Henry admitted, squinting up at Killian again. "Maybe we'll come back here to visit too?"

"I have high hopes for that."

After a few more hugs, promises to call, write, and do everything but send carrier pigeons, Emma got Henry settled in the passenger seat with his handheld game already blinking and sounding as she circled round to the driver's side where Killian patiently waited on her. "I'm not really a tearful goodbye person," she warned, her voice already breaking much to her chagrin. "So I'm just going to say see you later."

"I wasn't preparing to say goodbye yet, Swan." His hand ran up her leather clad arm to her shoulder and back down again. "And I hardly think it worth it to provide another moment to the still blushing bride where she can bask in the glory of her set up."

Briefly, Emma's eyes darted to the window for confirmation that while the Nolan family had retreated Mary Margaret's slight hand could be seen holding back a lace curtain. "We don't have to do this. This whole goodbye thing. I know you're saying you're going to visit…"

"I will see you and the lad in just a few days." He softly kissed her forehead. "I know you don't believe me, but I will be there. You'll answer your door and see me."

She pursed her lips tight as if she was trying to avoid argument. "I hope so," she finally said. "But just so we are clear. I will understand if you don't show."

"I'll be there so long as that is what you wish."

***AAA***

Killian did show up a few days later, landing on Emma and Henry's doorstep on New Year's Eve with champagne and grape juice, as well as his overnight bag. Emma, who had been cooking dinner and accidentally sent a jar of red sauce flying across the room, answered the door wearing a frustrated frown and a towel splotched with sauce stains on her shoulder. Her cheeks were flushed from the steam of the boiling water and the exertion of finding all the glass shards.

"Found another one," Henry called out to her as she rose up on her toes and back down again. "I'll get it."

"Don't," she called out over her shoulder with a rushed sense of purpose. "You'll cut yourself."

She dashed off to save her son from sure doom and let Killian enter the open space of the living/dining/kitchen that seemed both overly neat and cluttered at the same time. He lowered his bags and gave a surreptitious inspection of it, noting the clean lines and the modern features that seemed to be just like Emma would prefer. He smiled at the scattered photographs, some recent additions from the wedding and one that had clearly been framed in Mary Margaret's feminine style that was resting between a stack of books and another of file folders that he had no doubt were organized to her liking. There behind the glass was a photo of the two of them from the wedding, Emma's eyes were half closed and her grin serene as they shared a chair in the living room of the farmhouse. His left arm was around her and their hands were joined in an intricate pattern as his cheek rested against her tilted head.

"I wasn't sure," she said, approaching him and furiously wiping her hands on a towel. "I wasn't sure about the whole pictures of us thing. But Mary Margaret sent it and I thought if she told you about it and I didn't put it out…"

"It's a lovely memory of a lovely day," he said, spinning to face her. "I confess she gave me one too. It's currently sitting next to my computer at work. I had similar concerns that David would notice if I didn't display it."

"He doesn't tease you about it?"

"Only every day, love. But I don't mind too much. After all, he's right. I do spend quite a bit of my down time talking to you."

"Yeah, my boss said the same thing. She wanted to know your name. I hadn't mentioned anything. She just assumed because I was smiling more than usual." Her flushed cheeks were nearly crimson with the confession. "I hope you like pasta. Henry…well, he wanted to help. And his menu of home cooking is pretty much limited to pasta, scrambled eggs, and the specifically difficult dish of grilled cheese that is burnt on the outside and raw in the middle. I'm still not sure how I steered him so wrong on that one."

"I am sure it will be wonderful," he answered back, brushing her lips with a quick kiss. "I assume you haven't taught him your secret to pancakes yet?"

Her laughter was more boisterous than coy as she grabbed his hand to drag him around on a quick tour of the apartment. "Just so you know. That's David's recipe, but I wouldn't mind repeating them."

***AAA***

As winter faded into spring, Emma realized she was not only feeling more secure in Killian's promise to visit but somewhat expectant that it might work out after all. It wasn't that they didn't fight. They had a few doozies, especially when she caught him and Henry staying up late to play that silly video game. She'd been lecturing her son all day that his screen time needed to limited in light of a slipping grade in history. For a week she had barely spoken to him, assuming that he wouldn't bother to come visit again. If she'd had a Facebook page, she would have changed it to it's complicated. Yet there he stood on Friday evening with a pizza, his overnight bag, flowers, and a few books he had borrowed to help Henry get caught up on the War of 1812. She had been surprised to say the least.

Summer found her driving to visit Mary Margaret and David. Well, that was he excuse anyway. And when the 10 day vacation was spent 85% on Killian's boat and her son happily learning about the farm, she had to admit that she didn't travel to Storybrooke just for her friends. Killian pretended to be surprised at that revelation. It was on that boat that she had first said I love you, something Killian gloated he was happy about because it limited her escape routes. But he later admitted that he was surprised that she was so willing to say it when it had seemed impossible before. It was also on that trip that she admitted she had taken his advice and enrolled in the law enforcement academy. He helped her study in between lazy kisses and practice for asking David if he might still consider her for the job.

That fall she was enrolled in her final weeks of the program. She blamed it on his stupidity and recklessness that she had driven seven hours from the academy to Storybrooke where she had arrived on his doorstep at 2 a.m. with red rimmed eyes and a splotchy face. He had answered a call from a neighboring jurisdiction about a bank robbery. Instead of simply relaying the information about seeing the car in Storybrooke, he had chased after the armed perpetrators without any concern as to protocol. His patrol car had slid on wet leaves and careened off the road, losing sight of the suspects and banging him up a bit. The sight of the cut to his cheek and bandage peeking out from his sleeve had her sobbing and pounding her fists into his chest. She pushed him away when he apologized and threatened to drive home again until he pulled her inside and let her vent her frustration.

"I don't like any of this, Killian," she said, her legs folded under her in the chair where his cat watched curiously and hesitantly from next to him. "I don't like worrying about you."

"I know, my love. I didn't mean…"

"Don't!" she yelled, ignoring that his younger half-brother was asleep in the next room. "Don't apologize. You were doing your job and I am acting like those damsels in distress who wring their hands and cry over things. I don't want to be like that."

"Would it help to know that I worry over you too?" he asked, his hand running along the back of the cat who normally didn't expect much attention so late at night. "You told me about that skip that you were chasing a few weeks before your classes started and I nearly vomited. My heart did not beat right again until you called to say you were safe."

She blinked a few times to better focus her eyes in the dim light of the living room. "You didn't say anything?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because you love what you do. I don't want to be that Neanderthal of man expecting you to change your life so I am more comfortable. Danger can happen anywhere or at any time. It isn't specific to those in our professions." His head lolled back on the sofa cushion.

She'd surprised him then, throwing a pillow at him and marching out of the apartment to her car. He didn't follow. And while she was somewhat disappointed, she admitted to Mary Margaret a few minutes later that she knew she would have caved if he had. Mary Margaret didn't offer any miracle cure, but she had David sat up with her and learned just why she had freaked out. A pregnancy scare, a bad score on her next to last test, and finding out that he was injured over something so preventable had sent her over the edge.

He'd looked rather rough when he arrived to pick David up the next morning and gave her a sad sort of smile. She said nothing and ran down the stairs to hug him. "Maybe if I manage to pass this academy thing," she said, squinting into the sun as she looked up at him, "we could consider the whole living arrangements thing."

"Are you asking me to move in with you?" he asked, ignoring David's clearing of his throat from the passenger seat.

"Something like that," she said. "I mean, David's still got an opening. And I need a new job. And Henry's already been accepted to school here. So maybe there's a place with enough room in the closet for both of our stuff." His surprised yes was muffled by a quick kiss and the startling sound of the horn as David indicated his impatience.

Three weeks before Christmas it surprised all her friends when Emma was selected to give the student speech at the law enforcement academy graduation. Standing there on the stage in the auditorium, she ignored the thumping of her heart and spoke from the heart about being a part of something she had not trusted growing up in foster care. She spoke of her desire to help and her need to grow. And she spoke of the greatest surprise to her that she had ever admitted…that she had not done it alone.

The drive back to Storybrooke was fun and filled with laughter, as was the detour at the sheriff's office where she was sworn in on the spot. Killian had great fun calling her the junior deputy as David tried to sound official with his explanation of duties. The swearing in turned into dinner at Granny's and after a round of congratulations a trip just a few streets over to the house she had rented. David and Mary Margaret only pretended to be surprised when they saw that Killian not only had a key but his belongings were mingled in with hers.

And it was a surprise to no one when on Christmas Eve as Killian entered the gray house that was probably too big for them, that Emma launched herself down the stairs and into his arms. She had confessed that she was horrible at waiting for Christmas and had a penchant for snooping. With a sheepish smile, she uncurled her hand and revealed the engagement ring she had found in his belongings. He wasn't surprised by her confession only her lack of hesitancy when she said yes before his question even had a chance to fade in the air. And nobody else was surprised when a few months later they stood before friends and family to say their vows.


End file.
